Hey There Cinderella
by qfd
Summary: Playing in the NHL takes guts, hard work, sweat and determination. So does living life. What if you had to do both? Sidney Crosby is about to decide if he can.
1. Chapter 1

_This story came to me in a dream about a week ago, watching how hard Sidney has to work out on the ice, what he has to go through. His sweat and determination reminded me of somthing else. Hope you like this one so far._

_Yeah, our dolls gather dust in the corner of the attic  
And bicycles rust in the rain  
Still we walk in that fabled shadow  
Sometimes we call her name_

_Hey hey, Cinderella, what's the story all about  
I got a funny feeling we missed a page or two somehow  
Ohh-ohhhh, Cinderella, maybe you could help us out  
Does the shoe fit you now (lyrics Suzy Bogguss)_

C1

"Wow." It's not the deepest or most profound reply that I could have come up with, but all things considered, I think not bursting into tears and throwing myself out of the nearest window is pretty huge. Looking across the deep cherry wood desk cluttered with files and prescription pads, not to mention family photos of smiling children and one of those Mario Lemieux bobble heads that so many long term residents of this city seem to have, I find myself staring at my family doctor as though I've never seen her before, like she's not real, as though I'm looking at her through a thick haze. It could be my tears, I'm not sure.

"It's a lot to take in," she says, clicking the end of her ball point pen like she's nervous. Like maybe she thinks that I might actually go for the window, or maybe I might want to throw her out of the window instead. It's a thought.

"This is the part in the movie where when you're watching it you think...oh my god...how sad. And then you think...what would I do if that was someone I know? Because you never think that it's you, you know?" I look over at her and she narrows her shrewd eyes at me behind the safety of her darkly framed glasses, like she doesn't know what I'm talking about. I guess she doesn't. She does this all the time. She watches people fall to pieces in her office over just this type of news all the time. "You just...you never think...oh that's me. I'm going to feel like that," I try and explain, feeling this weird sort of smile tugging at the corners of my lips. It's an anxious smile, a nervous smile. Like if I don't smile I'll cry and I hate crying in front of people. I can't be weak. Not in my profession. Corporate politics doesn't allow for tears and histrionics.

"There are a lot of really positive outcomes for this type of cancer," she continues, looking back down at her notes. As if she doesn't know what they say, like she has to look down to remind herself of the diagnosis. The "c"-word. That ugly word that leaves you unable to breath and immediately has you thinking of tiny, frail, bald children. I don't know why you immediately think of sick children. Maybe because they seem so pathetic and helpless and I don't mean that in a callous sort of way; it's the way the marketing companies want you to feel when they put them in ads or on the news. "Randi...are you listening?" Looking up at her, I nod, though it's a lie. I can hardly concentrate on anything other than the screaming in my head. "There are some aggressive treatment programs. I'd like to get you started right away...," her voice trails off as I shake my head adamantly.

"I can't do anything now. I have tickets...Conner's wedding in Spain," I explain, that same nervous smile tugging at my lips. "It's his wedding...and we've made all these plans. I can't possibly do anything until after the wedding." Catherine looks over the tops of her glasses and looks down her perfectly straight nose at me, like a school teacher. Like I've done something wrong and I'm about to be punished for it.

"We're lucky to have caught this so early Miranda," she says firmly but quietly, as if there's some chance I've misunderstood her. "To achieve the best results, the treatment for this type of cancer needs to start right away." She looks over at me with that impatient parental stare, as if I'm some sort of misbehaving child that's refusing to listen to good advice.

"But he's my baby brother. I'm going to be a bridesmaid and wear this horrible red dress with all these frills," I grin, making these useless gestures with my empty hands, trying to explain to a woman who wears tweed and a lab coat just what a red flamenco dress looks like. I finally put my hands back in my lap when she makes this sort of huffing sound and goes back to impatiently clicking her pen.

"You need to cancel your plans Miranda," she says sternly, tapping the page like it's written in stone or maybe in blood on the print out in front of her, those typed words from the lab that have my heart feeling like a lead weight in my chest. "I'm certain if you explain to your brother...," I shake my head, a nervous laugh bubbling from my throat.

"No...no. I wouldn't ruin their wedding by telling them this," I explain, tears finally stinging my eyes, threatening to fall. "They'd cancel the wedding," I explain, tugging at my own knee length brushed wool skirt. "I couldn't do that. They have all these people coming," I continue, thinking of the huge guest list they've come up with. My baby brother and all these society people in Spain where no one speaks the language, it's going to be such a laugh. Or it was...because apparently I'm not going, not by the look on Catherine's face as she reaches for one of those other pads, the one where they fill in a time and give it to you to send you for blood tests and x-rays and that kind of thing. I've had a lot of those recently. I know all about these orders. I'm almost an expert on these orders.

"You're young. You're in otherwise good health. You can beat this Miranda, but you have to start treatment immediately."

I nod, because she isn't giving me a choice and because I know if I told my brother, my only surviving family, that he really would cancel his wedding and all of his big plans to make sure I got the treatment. The only trick now is getting the treatment and not letting him figure this out.

* * *

"I'm really going to need your help," the new, young, coach smiles at all of us, reminding me of a student teacher or a sub hoping that he won't get pelted with spit balls the moment his back is turned. "I know a lot of you, some I've only met briefly but I want all of you to know that as far as I'm concerned, we're all starting with a clean slate."

I look around at the faces of the other guys and they all look like little kids on Christmas morning. Like this Bylsma guy is the best Valentine's present they've ever had. TK is practically peeing himself with excitement. So why do I feel so empty?

It's not like I liked Therrien more than any other coach I've had. I've even disagreed with the guy a time or two. But he'd helped me, a lot, and it's hard to see the guy go. I mean, I agreed with Mario that he'd made some poor choices lately but...this guy is gonna take some getting used to.

"I won't ask you to do anything I won't do. Some of you guys know but for those of you that don't, I'll be running the drills with you, right behind you. I'm going to ask a lot of you, but we're in this together and we're going to make this fun for you again." He beams at everyone just like the student teacher who wants desperately to be liked, and it looks like it's working. Everyone is grinning like jack'o'lanterns at him. Especially Fleur, and for him I'll reserve judgement. Therrien was hard on him. Really hard. So for him I'll keep my mouth shut and reserve judgement and see if this works. "You in on this drill or what Croz?"

Clenching my teeth at the shortening of my name, as if he knows me, as if he's ever done anything more than shake my hand, I get in line behind Jordy and hope for the best. Open mind, I remind myself. I promised Mario I'd keep an open mind.

* * *

"Time off?" Tish looks over her computer screen at me and narrows her eyes. "You already had time off for Con's thingie in Spain."

"Yeah I know but uh...I might need some more time," I smile at her but the way her full red lips are pressing down into a blood red line tells me I'm busted.

"Where were you at lunch?" She hisses, reaching down to pull her purse out of the bottom drawer of her desk and pushing her chair back violently enough as she stands to nearly topple it over. When she stands she towers over me by a good six inches. Not that I mind. How can you mind having a super model for a best friend? Grabbing my arm she drags, pushes, pulls me to the bathroom and once inside, she leans against the back of the door, using her broad shoulders and size to bar entry to anyone who might try the door. "Well?" she asks, raising her perfectly shaped eyebrows at me in query, like raven's wings arching in a snow filled winter sky.

I could lie, but not to Patricia. I don't keep anything from her. Everyone has to have someone they can be absolutely open with. Some people have a shrink. I have Tish.

"I went to see Catherine. I was getting those results," I admit quietly. Okay, so I keep some things from her. I hadn't told her where I was going at lunch. I didn't want her to worry.

"And?" she says calmly, although the very pointed toe of her black paten leather shoes taps impatiently on the tile floor.

"Well it's not good," I reply, feeling that huge ball of emotion beginning to build in my throat again. The one I thought I'd managed to get rid of on the drive back to the office. Blinking rapidly I turn my attention up to the bright white industrial lights over head and will my tears back. No tears at work. Not even about this.

I feel her long arms wrap around me as her long silken ebony hair falls over my shoulder as she pulls me into her. I expect she's saying something soothing, or something smart and suitably appropriate for the situation but I can't hear her past that screaming in my head. That voice that tells me I'm going to die. I'm going to die and there are so many things I haven't done yet.

"Of course you're not going to die," Tish says sternly, holding me at arms length and giving me a shake. I had no idea I'd said it out loud but the thunderous look on her face makes it perfectly clear that I have. "You're not going to die on me. We're supposed to go shopping in Paris this summer for fuck sakes, so no, you're not going to die on me." That's what I love about Tish. She doesn't mean to do it and it's never on purpose but somehow everything is really about her. You can't be made at her about it. That's just Tish and everyone loves Tish. It makes me smile to see her consternation at the thought of not having me to go shopping in Paris with her. "What? Why are you smiling like that?"

"I was just wondering what I'll look like shopping in Paris with no hair?"

* * *

"Juice boy?"

"Do you have a problem with that Crosby?" Bylsma asks, a faint smile turning the corners of his almost non existent lips up at the corners. It's a threat. I know a threat when I see one, and that is a threat if I've ever heard one. Of course I know about his feelings about star players. Everyone knows about the Gretzky incident, how he missed the pass. "We're all a team here aren't we Croz? No one better than anyone else, am I right?" The threat is clear in his beady little eyes; 'maybe Therrien centered all the plays around you boy but you won't get that from me'.

"Right coach," I smile and take the platter of drinks. It's meant to take me down a peg. I know it and he knows it. The idea is, the rest of the guys won't make me feel like that.

Except maybe Flower. I can't believe he let him score. I can't believe he'd do that to me. I thought we were friends.

"This is the best Gatorade I've ever tasted," Bylsma smiles as he savours the first sip out of his cup. I want to punch him. I want to make him bleed.

Instead I smile. Smile and turn my back and head for the dressing room. So I'm the juice boy one day. When we play, he'll know. I'm the Captain. I'm the star. Not that it's gone to my head. It's just a fact. I can put this team on my back. Flowers and me, we can make this team win, with or without him. He'll understand that soon enough and then we'll see who the juice boy is.

* * *

Standing in front of the mirror I run my fingertips down my throat, feeling the slight swelling under my ears, at the back of my neck, and further down, under my arms. No, it's not there yet. That's a good sign. We caught it early she said. Sliding my hands under my breasts, supporting the weight of them in my hands, I look down at them.

So many times they've gotten in the way, stopped me from buying that bathing suit or made me get some blouse tailored, but they're mine; for now anyway.

Closing my eyes I run my fingertips slowly down the soft flesh, feeling for that spot. That damned bump. Half way down, hidden beneath the smooth ivory flesh, there...like a pebble, small, smaller than my fingertip but there; cancer.

Opening my eyes again I look down at the dark pink areola, the light pink nipple and the surrounding pale white flesh. My breasts were too big my mother always said, passed down from my grandmother. She always wanted me to be ashamed of them. She had small, perky breasts, just a handful she always said. Slim and pale with perfect dark ringlets she was beautiful.

I'm nothing like her, except around my eyes, or so my father said, especially after she died. He would put his hands on my cheeks and smile at me and say that my mother was looking out at him through my eyes. Those were the only things she gave me, my eyes, and now this. Cancer.

Wrapping the towel tightly around myself, I turn away from my reflection, from the plain brown wavy hair and the skin that's only pale where the sun doesn't get to it and the breasts that are too big. I have things to do and they won't get done standing here feeling sorry for myself. I have plans to undo and new plans to make, while I still have time.


	2. Chapter 2

Glad to hear some of you are enjoying

**C2**

"This is a really bad idea," Conner shakes his head as he watches me peruse the bottles behind the bar, silently naming them off to myself while thinking about putting them in alphabetical order once he's left. "This is just too much to ask, even of you." I smile to myself, glad that I've pulled it off, that he thinks asking me to look after the bar while they're gone is his idea.

"How can you say that Con? I'm your big sister. You're supposed to think I can do anything. What happened to that kid brother of mine that thought I was Wonder Woman huh?" I ask, turning back to my younger brother who's standing on the other side of the bar, his huge muscles barely concealed beneath his too tight black t-shirt, sleeves of colourful tattoos enhancing his bulging biceps as he reaches up to run his thick, ring festooned fingers through his ink black hair.

"This isn't like running an office Randi," he sighs, eying me suspiciously as I pick one bottle out of the many behind the bar and, grabbing a pair of shot glasses, do a dramatic high pour from shoulder level, watching the gold liquid fill the glasses without so much as spilling a drop.

"I've been drinking way longer than you have sunshine," I grin at him as I turn the bottle back over and put it down on the machined aluminum bar, "and I probably taught you half your moves. You forget. I haven't always been a corporate drone Con," I remind him, pushing one of the shots towards him. "Besides, it's only a couple weeks right? I mean, you don't want to disappoint Izzy."

"I really just need you to look after the books, do the banking, that kind of stuff. Maybe you shouldn't try to work behind the bar," my little brother looks down at the shot and then back up at me. "Especially since...," his voice trails away as he watches me reach for and down the shot. Coughing I laugh to myself.

"I'll be fine Con. Don't worry, you won't come back to find me dancing topless on the bar. I'll be fine. It will be a good change for me." I insist, closing my eyes as I enjoy the sweet burn of the Cuervo as it goes down. Opening them again I find my younger brother looking at me in that squint eyed sort of way, like he's trying to imagine my dark charcoal pin striped suit behind his bar. "You have a short memory Con," I sigh, shaking my head as I reach to undo the top buttons of my crisp white blouse.

"Ugh, please don't." He turns away, hiding his eyes while I grin at the wide expanse of his back. So that old chestnut still works then.

"You've worked hard to save up enough money to take Izzy back to Spain to get married. You can't let her down now," I grab the second shot and down it, wincing against the burn and then grinning. Damn. It _has_ been a while.

"I could go back to plan 'A' and just close it for a while," he sighs, looking around at the memorabilia on the walls, hockey jerseys, football jerseys, signed baseballs, bats, and hockey sticks.

"As if!" I shake my head at him. "Close this place right before playoffs? You and I both know that would have dad spinning in his grave. Besides, I was pouring shots down here on weekends before you were out of high-school Con. I'll be fine, I promise."

"Just promise me I won't have to come back to save you from yourself, _again_?" My little brother turns back and looks at me down his crooked nose, broken more than once in one too many bar fights, which is really why Dad left the bar to him. After all, he _had_ turned out to be his best bouncer. That and he could hardly keep him out of the place. Me, on the other hand, I'd always preferred the quieter company of my books and watching political debates from the safety of my bedroom. Still, I _had_ pulled my fair share of pints in my day and I was looking forward to the mind numbing noise that a good Saturday night could bring to this place.

"Again? I'm going to pretend you aren't bringing that up," I sigh, shaking off the thought of me lying in a puddle of my own vomit, curled in the fetal position, holding a bottle of JD and crying my eyes out. That was then, this was now. "No, I promise, no picking me up out of the gutter. Now go, seriously, before you talk yourself out of it and Izzy has to come in here and drag you out." Conner smiles and holds his arms out, even though I can still see the uneasiness in his eyes. Walking around the bar, I let him pull me into a bear hug that nearly crushes all the air out of my lungs. Wriggling free, I dig my fingers into the solid muscles of his chest and give him a push. "Go Conner, you'll be late for your flight."

"Thanks Sis, we'll be back before you know it. I promise." He smiles at me and I see the little boy I once knew before he grew into the big muscular goon I hardly know now. I watch him push the door open and squint when the sunshine streaks through the doorway. Sunshine doesn't seem to have a place in the dark and gloom of the club.

Pulling the pins out of my 'corporate updo', I drag my fingers through my long boring wavy brown hair and look around the bar.

"Well daddy, I know you'd hate this, but I'm going to look after this place for a bit," I whisper softly, feeling close to him in this place. "I won't stay though, promise," I add, sure that though I feel his ghost near, he'd just as soon I was back at work in my iron and glass tower. Smiling, I juggle the keys in my hand and head out the door.

I need to do some shopping before I can open up tonight. Somehow I don't think, no matter how classic, a DK charcoal pin stripe suit is going to fit in with this crowd.

* * *

"Hey, juice boy!" Grinding my teeth I turn to meet Max's wide grin with one of my own. I know he knows how much I hate this but I'll be damned if I give him the pleasure of letting him see it.

"Are you still the juice boy Crosby?" Bylsma calls to me and it sounds like fingernails on a chalkboard. I know he thinks this is 'team building' but what it feels like to me is 'Crosby killing'. What it feels like is that he's trying to make an example out of me and I have to keep just grinning and bearing it. What doesn't kill me makes me stronger...or some shit like that.

"That's me," I smile at him and hold the tray towards him. I want to dump it in his lap. I want to pour all the juice over his head, but I don't. Instead I just grin and laugh, just like everyone else. I'd rather be growing a porno moustache like Cookie but I'll do this and I won't complain, at least not where anyone can hear me. "I need to get out of here. I need a fucking stiff drink," I grumble to Jordy who nods as he tosses his jersey in the pile.

"The usual?" he asks with a raised eyebrow. I nod as I move on to serve Fleur who at least has the good grace to give me a sympathetic smile.

"You coming?" I ask him as he takes the cup from the tray.

"Oui, comptez-moi dedans," he smiles and glances towards Max hopefully, wanting me to include the maniac but I'm not in the mood.

"Not tonight," I shrug.

"Ce n'est pas son defaut," he reminds me, shrugging out of the huge shoulder pads that nearly dwarf his still sparrow like frame. The training keeps thinking he's going to fill out. I don't see it myself.

"I know, I just...can't take him tonight," I mumble, moving on. Fleur won't argue. That's why I can have him around and not Max. Max doesn't know when to turn it off. Jordy does, comes from having older brothers that will smack the shit out of you if you don't. Fleur never turns it on. Sometimes it works all together but not tonight. Tonight I just want to drink and not think.

* * *

"I wish I could be there to see your big opening night," Tish muses as I stand in front of one of the mirrors in my brother's bedroom. Now I know why he always insisted on having all our family dinners at my place, I think to myself with a quick glance at the mirrors above his king sized bed. It definitely gives me an entirely different picture of the soft spoken, serious Izzy.

"You can't miss a hot date with a property developer to watch me serve drinks," I chuckle, tugging at the bottom of the black satin vest that doesn't quite come all the way to the bottom of my rib cage. I don't know how she talks me into these things, but Tish is right, it makes my waist look tiny.

"Stop tugging at it or you'll be doing that all night," she coaches, reaching forward to bat my hands away from the hem of the vest. Turning my attention to other things, I turn to admire the way my legs look tipped at this angle.

"I'm not going to be able to wear these all night," I mumble, still admiring the black patent sling-back platform sandals that cost nearly half my wages for a month.

"Promise me if you get tired you'll sit," Tish insists, grabbing my shoulders hard enough to leave red marks on my skin.

"I'm not that sick, yet" I sigh, shaking her grip off of me. "I don't get my first round of chemo until tomorrow."

"Tomorrow?" Tish looks back at my reflection in the mirror, her face a mask of motherly concern.

"Well yeah," I shrug, going back to tugging at the bottom of the vest. "Weren't you the one that was agreeing with Catherine that I should stay and start the treatment? So yeah, tomorrow, which is good really 'cuz we're not open tomorrow or Monday and Tuesday should be slow even though there's a game," I add, turning so I can see my latest tat in the mirror.

"Look at that," Tish's wide, generous smile reappears, "this is a first; showing off your tats at work."

"It's just like you keep trying to tell me," I agree, admiring the graceful lines of the purple and black web as they disappear beneath the waist of the shiny black vinyl skirt, "there's a silver lining to everything."

* * *

"Is it normally this busy?" I shout into the ear of the other bartender, Matt, a very tall, very good looking Icelandic type, all blue eyes and bleached smile, his blonde hair almost white under the spot lights over the bar.

"This? This isn't busy," he laughs, patting me on the shoulder as if to tell me I can get through this. It's not even eleven yet and I already feel dead on my feet. I don't know what I was thinking wearing heels this high behind the bar. It's not like anyone can even see them. "If you need a break, Josie can come out of the kitchen for a while," he offers, but I wave him off. Matt looks like he belongs behind the bar and the ladies certainly seem to like him. Josie, on the other hand, looks like she belongs on the back of a hog and maybe my brother doesn't mind her near the cash, but I do.

"I'll be fine," I grab another bottle of water out of the bar fridge and hold it to my forehead, tilting my head back so the condensation doesn't run into my eyes, which is probably why I see them walk in. They're young, wearing clothes that look like they cost a pretty penny, though they aren't much different from what most of the other patrons are wearing. It's probably the fit, the way the material moves with them, or maybe it's just the way they hold themselves, like they expect to be noticed. Like it goes without saying that they're important.

I've known plenty of lawyers that walk like that. It's not a strut, it's just a presence. Court rooms go quiet when they walk in. Sort of like the way the crowd parts for these young men as they make their way towards the bar.

"Who are they?" I roll the water bottle down to my chest and let the condensation drip into my cleavage.

"Hockey players," Matt rolls his eyes, as if it should go without saying. Had my dad had been alive he'd have rung the bell and announced their presence to the entire bar, but when my dad ran the place people sat around at tables eating wings and watching the Pirates on tiny televisions with bad reception. Now my brother has put in sixty inch plasmas in the games room at the back but the bar is mostly for dancing to music that quite frankly makes my ears want to bleed. I've at least taken Matt's advice and stuck ear plugs in. It makes hearing the orders a hell of a lot easier.

"College or...?" My voice trails off as Matt's brow furrows, like I've said something idiotic.

"Noooo, NHL, Pens players. You _are_ from this city aren't you?" he asks, before disappearing around the corner to take an order, leaving me standing with my bottle of half frozen water still in my cleavage in front of the three young men sidling up to the bar.

"What will it be gentlemen?" I ask, pulling the water bottle out and twisting off the top to take a long swig, glad now I hadn't given in to the urge to pour it down my top.

"JD," the tall blonde with the John Travolta cleft in his chin grins as he folds a fifty neatly and holds it out towards me. For a moment I have this thought that he's expecting me to offer him my tits to stick it between but then I realize that I am the one with my wares on display and that I need to stop thinking the worst of everyone and just reach out and take it. "And keep it coming until _he_ passes out," he adds with a chuckle, aiming an elbow at his shorter, darker haired friend, who is...breath- taking, literally.

My hand freezes as I reach for the tumblers beneath the bar. Under the dark lights his skin is so white that it's almost silver and his hair shines dark blue, and his lips...these full, plump lips look like grape hubba bubba bubble gum. My gaze travels along the sharp planes of his high cheekbones, down the slightly crooked line of his nose and realize that I'm chewing on my own lips as my gaze hesitates on his mouth.

Holy god, I think, he's too beautiful to be a hockey player.

* * *

Suddenly I forget all about the shit day I've had as I watch the new bartender turn to reach for the bottle behind her. Something about the way her pale skin glows under the spot lights, or maybe it's the way her shapely legs looks as she stands on tip toe to reach the bottle, or it could be the surprisingly elegant looking web tattoo that peeks above the waistband of her skirt, but I find all thoughts of the rink and the new coach and the general aches and pains disappearing and suddenly all my thoughts focus on the dark haired beauty pouring our drinks.

"Your new," Jordy raises his glass towards her, echoing my thoughts as he drains his glass in one gulp before slamming it back down on the bar.

"I thought you said he was the one that was going to be passing out," she grins, tipping the bottle into his glass.

"No, I said keep it coming 'til he passes out," Jordy laughs, slapping me on the back. "Besides, this guy totally can't hold his booze. He'll be snoring while me and Flower are dancing later, wontcha buddy?" Jordy laughs at his own version of a joke as he smacks both Fleur and me in the back, hard enough that we're both wincing as we exchange glances down the bar.

"So what's the occasion? You guys win a game or something?" she asks, biting down on her full, plump red bottom lip as if she's worried we'll judge her for not knowing. As if you could think badly of anything shaped like that with all those curves and soft white skin....

"New coach," Fleur explains quietly, to which Jordy raises his glass with an ear to ear toothy grin.

"Yes to the coach. Bottoms up," Jordy agrees whole heartedly and downs yet another glass, sputtering as he drops the glass down onto the bar. "Let's dance!"

Both Fleur and I shake our heads, to which his only reply is to shake his head in disgust and bounce off into the crowd, his blonde hair bobbing in time with the techno music blaring from the speakers. When I turn back the dark haired waitress is watching the crowd on the dance floor, looking almost wistful.

"Did you want to dance?" I ask quietly enough that she has to lean over the bar only to have me shout it in her ear again.

"Can't; on duty," she grins at me, grabbing Jordy's empty glass and a few other likewise abandoned pints and martini glasses before disappearing around the corner to deposit the bill Jordy gave her.

"Oooh tiré vers le bas en flames," Fleur raises his eyebrow at me, but I look away before he starts laughing at me, which is the only reason I don't pummel him on the spot. That, and I'm still watching her as she leans across the bar to take some money from a couple of guys who have just come off the dance floor. She smiles, and leans her chin on the back of her hands, listening intently to them. Her shapely ass wags in time to the beat of the music as if she wants to dance but I'm relieved to see her playfully smack away the hand of one of the big meatheads as he reaches for hand. At least if I am going down in flames, I'm not alone.

* * *

"All night?" Tish hisses, leaning back against the bar, feigning interest in what I'm doing when what she's really doing is taking another glance at the hot hockey players still sitting at the other end.

"Well no, just since about eleven or so," I correct her, not daring to glance down at the bar, afraid if I meet the scorching gaze of the dark wavy haired one I won't be able to make myself look away.

"You do know who that is don't you," she says, her voice pitched low enough so that I know I'm the only one who will hear her.

"Matty said something about Pens players but you know me Tish, I haven't been to a game since...," my voice trails away as her arms wrap around my shoulders.

"Hey, this is me, it's okay, sometimes I forget," she whispers, squeezing me tight. "But you know hey, it's not like the kid isn't in the newspaper all the time," she adds with a grin as she steps back.

"Kid?" I ask, taking a quick peek down the bar to find his gaze still locked on our general vicinity.

"Well, they call him the Kid," Tish begins, her gaze following mine as she goes back to leaning against the bar, her elbows resting leisurely on the cool aluminum surface. "Does the name Sidney Crosby ring a bell?" Having torn my attention away from the handsome lines of his face, I don't dare look back, but it's all coming clear to me now.

"The totally cute one from when we went to that sticks and chicks thing?"

"Hockey and heels?" Tish corrects me with a shake of her head, sending her cascading ebony hair swinging. "Yeah, you were drooling over him then too and now it looks like the feeling is mutual," she adds in a hushed, conspiratorial tone. With one last glance back at him, I shrug, turning my attention back to stacking glasses.

"Yeah well...he's drunk and besides, it's not like I'm going to start anything right now," I sigh, looking down at my cleavage. "What am I going to say? Oh these, yeah don't get used to these, they won't be around long."

"Hey! I thought you were going to keep a positive outlook!" Tish snarls, grabbing my shoulders and giving me a gentle shake. "Catherine told you that there was only a small chance it would come to that," she reminds me none too gently. "You have to stay positive about this Randi. You're going to be fine."

"Yeah well...remind me about that tomorrow when you're holding my hair back while I puke my guts out okay?" I sigh, smiling up at her stern 'mommy knows best' look.

"Ugh, put it in a pony tail. You puke I puke, remember?" she laughs, hip-checking me and sending me sprawling towards Matt who catches me easily and puts me back on my feet.

"Just about last call," he reminds me, shooting an interested look over my shoulder towards Tish who, as usual, doesn't even seem to notice the big Scandinavian.

"And I bet Conner usually does the kicking out, am I right?" I ask, imagining my brother taking pride in his kicking out ability.

"True enough, but this crowd looks tame enough, I think I can handle them. You've done pretty good for a rookie tonight, why don't you guys head upstairs?" Tish and I exchange raised eyebrows but I decide to leave him to it, stacking the last of the glasses before turning to the cash register, intending to take the cash tray up with us.

* * *

"Have you moved at all?" Jordy asks accusingly, emerging at last from the thinning crowd of the dance floor, his arm around a curvaceous blonde that reminds me a bit of his girlfriend from back home.

"I think Sidney likes the view from right here," Fleur replies with a grin, downing the last of his beer before pushing his empty glass away like he's had enough, like it's time to go home, which I suppose it is considering we're down to the very drunk and sweat stained crowd.

"Can't say I blame ya buddy, but I never knew you were into the kinky stuff. I mean, did you see that skirt?" Jordy turns and cocks his head to one side, staring right at the new barmaid and her friend who showed up about half an hour ago. "Huh, she's new too," he adds with a grin, abandoning the blonde he's with, much to her obvious astonishment, and sliding into the empty bar stool beside us.

"Smooth move man," Fleur sniggers, glancing back at the girl that Jordy's just left hanging.

"Well?" Jordy grins as he leans over the bar and lets out a long wolf whistle. Fleur and I look at each other, both wondering if it's time to make ourselves scarce. "Look at those legs, they go for miles," Jordy adds under his breath as the taller of the two women behind the bar turns and smiles warmly at him. The two of them have been talking about us, I know because they've been keeping an eye on us, but they've also been keeping their distance.

"She probably thinks I'm pathetic," I sigh, mostly to myself but Fleur tugs on my sleeve which means he's heard.

"Cessez de se sentir désolé pour tu-mêmes," Fleur sighs, shaking his head at me. I open my mouth to object but a sexy laugh freezes my voice in my throat. Unfortunately I turn back to see both women heading in the opposite direction, much to Jordy's dismay.

"Ah c'mon ladies, a night cap, c'mon," Jordy calls after their retreating forms, only earning a quick look over their shoulders and a bell like giggling sound as they head into the back room. "Damn...you guys should have given me a heads up, I could have been working that," he sighs, shaking his head as the door swings on its' hinges behind them. Predictably though, in a flash he's looking for the blonde who is, luckily for him, still huddled in the corner with her friends. "Oh well, back to plan B," he grins, putting back on his Mr. Charming cape as he slides off the bar stool and heads in their direction.

"How does he do it?" I grumble, downing the last of the amber burning liquid and slamming the glass down hard enough that it sends ice cubes scattering across the bar and onto the floor.

"I know, he's like a stray dog," Fleur laughs, putting his arm around my shoulder and giving me a squeeze. "But she was cute non?"

"Mmm, they both were," I admit with a sigh, and a last longing look over my shoulder at the empty bar.

"We'll come back," Fleur laughs, giving me a push towards the door. "Maybe you'll ask her out next time," he adds with a wink.

Yeah, maybe.


	3. Chapter 3

_thanks, as always for all the encouragement! it's always very much appreciated. This one is really coming alive for me so hopefully there should be more soon_

C3

"Better?" Max gives me a shove as we step off the ice after a couple hours of drills that remind me of being in Midget A. Max is grinning and I have to admit, so am I.

"Yeah, yeah, it was fun," I confess, which earns me another painful shot to my shoulder sending me off balance, almost crashing into Tanger, who only shoves me back with a bark of laughter.

"Better than being yelled at by Therrien," Tanger adds with a huge grin plastered on his face. Nodding, I have to agree. It does make a nice change to have someone be encouraging, someone who laughs and joins in with us, like he's one of us.

"I think it helps that Creature is in _loooove_," Jordy crows from behind me, shoving me forward so that I nearly fall, with only my lower centre of gravity and good balance keeping me upright.

"What's this?" Max grins at me, that partly calculating, partly smarmy look on his face that tells me this conversation can't possibly end well for me. "Avec qui? Où est-elle? A t'elle une amie?"

"The new barmaid at Shakers," Jordy informs everyone, despite my evil eyed glare in his general direction, "and yes she has a friend but I've called dibs on her already," he adds with a lift of his eyebrow and a mischievous grin that tells me he's already hatching some elaborate plot, and when it comes to the Staal brothers, that kind of thing never ends well.

"So there's a new barmaid eh mon ami?" Max digs his elbow into my ribs as we slide onto the bench in the dressing room before dropping his nasty, stinky gloves on the floor. "Est-elle empilée?" He asks, holding his hands out descriptively in front of him and arching his thick eyebrows.

"Must you?" I sigh, shaking my head. "Why does it always have to be about boobs with you?"

"Parce qu'ils sont tellement amusement," he laughs heartily. Max does always find his own jokes funnier than anyone else seems to.

"If you had boobs you'd never leave the house," I mumble, bending to untie my skates, ignoring the sex noises he makes beside me. I actually don't even want to think about that and I certainly don't need to be looking at him to know he's imagining it right now.

"So Tuesday night at Shakers is retro disco night," Jordy taps my ankle with the blade of his stick, "ready to put on some platforms and do the hustle cap?"

"I think I'll skip the platforms," I shrug, glancing up at him, "but I guess I could go with you."

"You guess," he shakes his head and laughs at me as he strolls across the room. "Well if you don't want to get laid…."

"I said I'd go," I yell across the room at him, picking up a half used roll of hockey tape and tossing it at his back. It doesn't even phase him, bouncing harmlessly off the width of his back and landing on the floor, but it opens the flood gates, and the next thing you know, socks, gloves, hockey tape and even skate laces are flying everywhere and it's only Mike Yeo's voice raising above the din that eventually stops the free for all.

"Those of you going visiting to Mercy today, the bus leaves in half an hour, get cleaned up."

A general groan rises up, but no one really protests. Slipping my crocs on, I toss the rest of my gear onto the floor for the equipment staff to pick up and head for the showers.

* * *

"Holy fuck!" Gripping the arm of the chair I close my eyes and try to breathe through the stinging pain of the liquid heat running through my veins.

"I'm told you get used to it," the nurse says matter-of-factly, as if that's going to help.

"If you don't mind, I don't think I want to get used to _this_," I hiss between my teeth, as my mind maps the burning pain searing my blood as it runs up my arm.

"Junkies do this all the time," the nurse muses as I gasp at the feel of my own blood boiling inside my own body.

"Now wonder I've never much liked drugs," I grumble, digging my fingernails into the fake robin's egg blue plastic feeling leather that's supposed to be soothing or something, but all I can think of is tearing it apart, tugging this line out of my arm and running screaming out of this room.

"So...you've got your book. I'll be back in about half an hour." I look up at the nurse, knowing full well my eyes are too wide and full of the desperation not to be left alone with my overactive imagination. "The book will help," she suggests, giving me a warm smile but leaving me on my own anyways, with the door open just a crack, just enough to see and hear warm live bodies walking up and down the hall, chatting animatedly, happily, living their lives while I sit here, attached to molten hot lava flowing into my veins.

Great. Just great.

* * *

"Hey! Where do you think you're you going?" Jordy grabs the back of my jersey, tugging me backwards and causing me to windmill my arms to stop from falling.

"The kids' wing," I suggest, putting a hopeful smile on my face.

"We're supposed to be going to the cancer ward," Tanger points out, although I notice he doesn't make a move to go down the hallway.

"We've just stopped a losing streak, I need a little…I don't know…happy kid time okay? Just this once can't we just see some kids with broken legs and arms instead of burns or dead people?" I look at all the guys around me, a plea clear on my face, and watch while they all look around at one another. "Oh c'mon, you guys are the ones that have been telling me to lighten up on the coach, that he's a good guy. He'll understand."

"_He_ might," TK shrugs, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shuffling uneasily from one foot to the other, "but will Mario?"

"Leave him to me," I shrug, giving each of them another hopeful glance and watch with some relief as they all turn and troop down the corridor towards the Children's wing.

* * *

"That's sensitive," Tish grumbles sarcastically as she offers me a hand up out of the chair, sparing a glance over her shoulder towards the voices in the hallway.

"I don't blame them," I moan, putting my hands in hers' and letting her pull me to my feet, wincing at the way all of my muscles ache. "I feel about a hundred years old right now so believe me, I would _much_ rather be watching kids than doing this."

"I'm sorry I was so late, I just couldn't get away from this stupid meeting," she apologizes as she watches me vigilantly, like she expects me to tip over at any second, and I'm not sure she's not right to worry.

"Doesn't matter," I mumble, gripping her arm a little more tightly than I should but I can't keep my eyes open and walk at the same time. My fingers dig into the flesh of her arm as another wave of nausea rolls over me but I don't dare open my mouth to tell her to stop. I have to rely on the signal my fingers marking her pale skin are sending. That and hope that after all the time we've been friends that we may have developed some kind of symbiotic esp thing. Breathing through my nose and out of my mouth, I will the surge of bile back, gagging on the sharp acidic taste on the back of my tongue.

"You've got all her pills?" The nurse asks, like it's nothing, like she does this all the time, which I guess she probably does. I open one eye to look over at her, intending to send her the message that I'm not five years old or suffering from some lack of mental fitness that would leave me unable to manage my own pills but as soon as I open just one eye, the nausea boils over and I heave my breakfast at her feet. "Lots of liquids," she adds with a sigh. I guess maybe that happens all the time too.

"C'mon you," Tish grins, wrapping her arm around me and practically lifts me off of my feet, "let's get you home and to bed. Lots of rest and lots of fluids," she adds, repeating the mantra I've heard ever since I got the diagnosis. "And don't puke in my car," she adds with a chuckle as she pushes the door open and helps me out into the hall.

"Give me some more of that cherry graval and I'll think about it," I reply hoarsely, leaning against her and breathing slowly while we walk.

"Whatever stops you from puking in my baby," she replies, pushing the button to the elevator. "Puke all you want at your brother's apartment, just not in the beamer, okay?"

"I make no promises," I sigh, grateful to hear the sound of the elevator door swooshing open and even more grateful to find it empty. That would be all I'd need, to puke on a bunch of perfect strangers, or worse, hot doctors.

"Did I tell you who I saw on the way in?" Tish asks, keeping the conversation light I notice as the doors close behind us. Leaning against the cool metal interior, my eyes closed firmly against the sudden motion, I shake my head. "Kris Letang and Hal Gill. They were in the caf when I went down to get you the water. Damn…you don't know who I'm talking about do you?" she adds, sighing dramatically. Peeling one eye open, I cock my head to one side, glad that she doesn't actually need me to answer, that that small movement is enough. Thank goodness for best friends. "Penguins players. I looked around a bit to see if your Sidney was around but I didn't see him, or that tall, blonde, hot drink of water either," she adds with a raise of her eyebrows and a pursing of her full pink lips.

"Well thank god for that," I reply slowly as the doors open again in the cool of the parkade. Closing my eyes again briefly I savour the cool air, until the gas fumes and the stink of diesel send me scrambling for an empty parking spot to puke into.

* * *

"You need a haircut," Lauren snarls from behind her teen magazine. I look back at her in the rear view mirror and watch her dark eyes duck below the top of the page.

"I'll get a haircut at the end of the season, that's when I get it cut," I insist quietly, reminding myself that I shouldn't let myself get dragged into her whole teenage control thing and, more importantly, that Nathalie thinks Lauren has a crush on me so I need to be a little thoughtful of her feelings. Whether that's a gentle reminder to move out or not, I haven't decided.

"At least you won't have to grow that dirty sanchez again," she mumbles, not under her breath but in the sort of tone that says she's pretending I can't hear her but knows damn well I can.

"You don't think we'll make the playoffs?" I ask, knowing even our most staunch fans have been weakening in their support lately. I didn't think that included any of Mario's offspring, but the narrow eyed look she gives me over the top of her magazine featuring the Jonas Brothers and Robert Pattinson.

"Not unless a miracle happens," she replies dismissively.

"Well I guess you'll have to watch and see," I sigh, giving the Land Rover some gas as we crest the hill towards the theatres. "So, what movie are you going to see?" I ask, trying to take an interest without asking anything person. Nathalie's suggestion.

"Underworld, you know, the third one but it's not really the third one it's like...a pre-thing," she replies, sighing dramatically and folding up her magazine, like it's some kind of big effort to bother to explain this to me.

"Oh...yeah? Well the first two were pretty good," I smile back at her, to which she rolls her eyes and turns to stare out at the dark streets passing by. Well, they were. Kate Beckinsale is hot in all that skin tight leather. "So...your mom is picking you up after right?" I ask, not because I don't know the answer, just because I want to reconfirm that she knows it and doesn't take off afterwards, necessitating an anxious call from Nathalie later.

"Whatever, yeah, I guess," she sighs, rolling her dark eyes again, crossing her arms in front of her chest and sliding further down into the seat. I had offered for her to ride shotgun but she'd refused. I glance over now at Fleur who's fastidiously staring out the passenger window and saying nothing.

"I just want to make sure because we're going to a club in town and I might not hear my phone if you call," I advise as I pull the Land Rover into the parking lot and aim the car towards the front door of the theatres.

"We could totally go with you," Lauren suddenly says brightly, pushing herself up in her seat and grinning at me. Fleur glances a warning at me but it's a warning I don't need.

"No, you can't." I don't even add because your mom and dad would kill me. The last thing I need tonight is a not quite sixteen year old girl tagging around with us.

"It's so not fair. Jordan's not old enough to go," she sighs and slumps back in the seat, arms crossed once more, her lips pursed tightly as she stares out the window. Fleur bites his lip and tries not to laugh as he turns his attention back out the passenger window and just shakes his head.

"Your right, he's not, technically," I agree with her, because it's true and because it will make her feel a little better not to be argued with, "but he's a lot closer than you are. So...close enough or do you want me to drop you a little closer to...."

"No, this is fine," she snaps, pushing open the door and dashing out of the SUV, slamming the door shut behind her. I watch her run precariously close to another car, the driver of which glances darkly at me, but I can only shrug. She's a teenager and not even my teenager, what can I do?

* * *

"Here they come again," Matt glances over towards the front of the bar where a group of handsome, well dressed young men are making their way towards us.

"Is this a regular spot for them?" I ask, yawning behind my hand as I slide off of the bar stool I've been perched on for the last half hour at least, my legs unwilling or unable to hold me up any longer on these high heeled pointed toe boots that Tish insisted on my buying. At least that's what I keep telling myself because it's better than believing the alternative, which is that I really am this tired and this debilitated by the drugs.

"So you recognize them this time do you?" Matt muses as he glances their direction again and then back at me, as if he's trying to decide if he's going to offer to look after them too, just as he has almost every other client tonight. Not that it's been overwhelming. If I'd really thought he needed help I would have offered, or at least that's what I've told myself every time I didn't get up to pull a pint or pour a drink.

"I do, yeah," I roll my eyes at him but he only laughs and flicks his bar towel at me. "It was the last thing my dad bought me, the tickets to the heels and hockey thing a couple seasons ago, right before he told us about...," my voice trails away as I think about that day, about the bad news he'd given me when I came home, full of the events of the day and how I'd met this wonderful guy. I feel Matt's hand on my shoulder, heavy and large, and look up into his ice cold blue eyes to see tears glimmering in them.

"We all loved your old man," he begins, reaching up to brush a tear from my cheek, balancing it on his thumb for a moment before wiping it off on his shirt. "It fucked us all up when he died. He was bigger than life for us so I can't even imagine how you and Con got through it, especially so soon after...." It was his turn for his voice to trail away as his attention turned to the portrait hanging over the cash register, my mom and dad with their arms around one another, looking like they had the world by the tail, and I suppose they did, once upon a time.

"And now it's my turn," I sniff, burying my face in my hands and willing back the tears. No tears at work, not even here.

"You'll beat this thing," Matt's hand is back on my shoulder and I look up to see him smiling encouragingly back at me. "You will," he insists again, giving my shoulder a squeeze before turning and heading down the bar to serve the group that have just arrived.

That should be me, I think as I watch him reach for the black and white labelled bottle and as many tumblers as will fit in his thick sausage like fingers. VIP guests like that, Conner would be sure to serve himself. Hell, my father would have decked anyone that even tried and yet, as I try to slide off the stool again, my joints, my muscles protest, telling me to rest, to stay where I am. But I can't. I have work to do.

* * *

"Did you see that?" I hiss as I watch the big Viking behind the bar reach out to tenderly brush her cheek with his hand. "You think something's going on with them?"

"Wow, you are so paranoid," Max laughs as he glances in their direction and then back out towards the dance floor, thoughtfully stroking his fu-manchu as he begins to tap his foot to the beat of the music. "Hello, you're the most eligible bachelor in the city, all you have to do is go over there and say 'hey mama, care to do the bump with me?' and she'll be all yours."

I have to laugh at the visual his words paint in my head, especially considering the platform boots and white wide collared Saturday Night Fever suit he's got on. I can see Mad Max doing it, going over to her and saying those words. Me, on the other hand, that's just not my thing.

I do want to talk to her though, I realize as I watch her look up at something beyond the big Icelandic Bear's shoulder as he turns to walk towards us, her face filled with a sort of regret that the team sports therapist would say, needs to be talked out and I've been told I'm a good listener.

"Thanks," I accept the drink the big man offers me, "and I'd like to buy one for your co-worker?" I watch him turn to look over at her, something protective and concerned flickering through his features, making his big square jaw tense, and then he shrugs his big round shoulders.

"You'll have to ask her yourself," he shrugs, moving on to the next group of seventy's clad revellers that sidle up to the bar. Taking my drink with me, I turn to find her almost in front of me, just ducking below the bar as she re-takes her place.

"Where's your flammable leisure suit?" she asks, her formerly pensive gaze replaced by a warm, inviting smile as she leans against the bar in front of me.

"I...uh...couldn't really get into the look," I reply, giving her sequined body skinning jumpsuit a quick once over before turning my attention back to her full pink lips and glitter eye make up. She may be in costume but she looks every bit as beautiful as she did the other day.

"I don't blame you," she says with a wink, offering to top up my drink but I only wave the bottle away.

"I, uh...wanted to buy _you_ a drink," I offer, watching as she turns to place the bottle of JD back amongst all the others, my gaze travelling down the pale skin of her bare back to the web pattern etched across the small of her back where it disappears into the hip hugging jump suit.

"Sorry, not when I'm working," she shrugs, reaching for a towel and giving the top of the bar a rub down, like it keeps her hands busy.

"What about dancing...oh no...you don't do that when you're working either," I sigh, turning to follow her gaze out onto the dance floor where Jordy and Max are doing their best Travolta out of the floor in their matching white suits and black shirts. Jordy actually really looks the part, which is a little frightening. Max kind of looks like some kind of pimp.

"But it looks like fun doesn't it?" she laughs, a sound that makes me think of sleigh bells and Christmas morning. I open my mouth to ask her if she's sure she won't take a quick spin out on the floor, but her attention is entirely fixed on the dance floor and specifically on a spot that seems to be opening up around a couple who are really getting down and I realize with a sinking feeling that it's Jordy and the barmaid's friend from the other night, the tall one with the long hair. "They look great don't they?" she shouts at me as the crowd begins to clap in time to the music.

I have to admit they do and that Staalsy looks like he's really enjoying himself. I wish I could say the same.


	4. Chapter 4

C4

"I can't believe you went home with him," I smile weakly across the room at Tish who's tucking into a brown bag lunch, which in itself, for her, is something entirely out of the ordinary but her news today is something else again.

"Not only that," she smiles around a mouthful of bunwhich, a twinkle in her eye, "but he made me this lunch _and_ drove me to work this morning." I try and picture it, Tish getting out of his car in front of everyone we know, hating like hell that I wasn't there to see it.

"You let him drive you to work? You never even give guys your real name let alone see where you actually work," I shake my head again, wondering who the hell this woman is sitting across from me, eating a brown bag lunch and glowing, and not from the radioactive isotopes currently being pumped into my system.

"I know, right?" She gets this smile on her face and this far away look in her eye and I find myself just staring at her with my mouth open. Not only did she go home with him, she liked it and she liked him. "I mean it worked out, he had to go to the airport this morning anyway, they have a couple of away games," she begins and then looks up at me, the blood filling her face from the neck up.

"You're going to see him again, aren't you?" I ask, or more accurately, I accuse. Nodding mutely, she changes from roughly the colour of strawberry icing to something more akin to that of a tomato.

"So you really slept with Jordan Staal?" the young girl hooked up to all the i.v.'s next to me looks over at Tish wide eyed and she nods, still unable to do more than look overly pleased with herself.

"I should have known," I sigh, glancing at the tubes leading to the new port under my skin near my collarbone. They call it a port, a permanent place to attach i.v.'s and take blood from so they don't use up all my veins. I've started to call it my Borg appendage. "As soon as I saw the scarf I knew," I add with a quick glance at the colourful chiffon around her neck, "and you eating that...I've never seen you eat anything that looks like that."

"It's actually pretty good," she looks down at the sandwich that she's been munching on, dripping with mayo and mustard and then looking up at me.

"Who are you and what have you done with my friend Patricia?" I mumble shaking my head. Not that I begrudge her the action, after all, I've had years of listening to how hard it is to find guys when, as a woman, you're already at least 5'9" and over six foot in heels. "Well at least one of us is getting some action. I can start living vicariously through you, just like you did with me in University." It's meant to be funny, meant to be, too bad nothing feels very funny right now. If we'd been at work, if none of the rest of this was happening, this would be funny. It would be fucking hilarious. Right now I'd be bugging her and almost crying from laughing so hard.

But I can't laugh. I can't, partly because it hurts to laugh, because everything hurts, and partly because, if I'm honest, I'm jealous as hell.

"Hey, I have some news for you about a certain someone," Tish adds with a wink but I shake my head with a glance at our young friend. It's bad enough she's spilled about Jordan. Even if I think she's going to say what I think she's going to say, now would not be the time and besides, what could I possibly do about it?

"Not in front of the kiddies Tish," I sigh, looking longingly at the grapes she's pulling from her packed lunch. I love grapes but right now I can't imagine eating them, thanks to one of the lovely side affects of the chemo. Mouth sores, very pretty, and kind of like having a mouthful of glass shards.

"Then let's go for a walk," Tish stashes the grapes back in the brown paper bag and puts all of it back in her purse before turning and holding her hands out to me. "Coming?" I stare at her hands, wishing I had the energy to dance down the halls with her, but knowing damn well that I don't.

"Don't you have to be getting back to work babes?" I ask, feeling like I'd rather just curl up and go to sleep right here, and with a sort of half smile, realizing the nurse was right. You can get used to this awful shit.

"I suppose," she sighs, glancing down at her phone, but not like she's checking the time, more like she's waiting for someone to text her. Lucky girl. "You sure you're okay here? I can phone Howie and tell him I'll be a bit late?" she offers, which is sweet of her but unnecessary.

"No...no, you go. I don't need you getting canned over me. Call me later?" I don't even have the strength left to tell her that it hurts when she kisses my cheek before she leaves. I never used to lie so much. Never mind not knowing who she is, I don't know who _I_ am anymore.

* * *

"How's everything working out with the new coach?" Shawna Richer asks me over a beer at a local restaurant the guys and I hang out at.

"Fine...no, good. He's good. The guys like him a lot," I answer, trying my best not to give her the pat answers, the usual after the game hockey answers. After all, she spent a season following me around to write a book that didn't make me look all bad, so I feel like I owe her at least some level of honesty.

"And you, do you like Dan?" she asks, without looking up from the plate of fries in front of her, like she's expecting me to have trouble with the answer.

"I actually think he's great," I amaze myself with my own answer. A lot has changed in a couple of weeks.

"Things do seem to be going in the right direction for you guys lately," she smiles up at me, a funny sort of smile that tells me I gave the right answer, almost like she's proud of me or something. It's the same sort of smile that Nathalie will give me when I don't put the empty milk back in the fridge.

Sometimes I miss my mom.

"Yeah, things are going much better in the room. The guys are loose, we're joking around. It reminds me a bit of last year just...you know, later in the season," I reply honestly. We hadn't got far out of November before the team had gelled last season and I have to admit, Dan's helped a lot with that.

"And what about you? What's changed for Sidney Crosby lately? Have you got a girlfriend?" she asks, just like that, out of the blue.

"No," I reply honestly, but the look on my face must be more like 'I can't believe you just asked me that' because Shawna reaches over and turns the tape off.

"Don't you think, if you're going to have a life, that it's better if you're just honest about it, like the rest of the guys?" she asks, her face taking on that 'now listen here you little pup' stern mom look that on her makes her look like one of those teachers I had at Shattucks that scared the living crap out of me.

"I _am _Shawna," I smile, shrugging my shoulders. "It's not as easy for me to approach women as you might think." She tilts her head to one side and narrows her eyes at me, like she's getting ready to call bullshit on me but I just shake my head and laugh. "It's true. I mean, yeah there's the girls in the stands but I don't even notice them, not the way Max and Geno do, and yeah, everyone's always trying to set me up with their niece or daughter or something but...the women I like...don't want to know."

"Don't want to know? C'mon Sidney...," I shake my head again at her before she can tell me that she thinks I'm feeding her a line.

"Take right now. There's someone I'm interested in but she doesn't give a shit. Period. She barely gives me the time of day. Just because I'm Sidney Crosby," I give that the old rabbit ears and laugh, "doesn't mean I get laid every night of the week."

She looks at me for a long moment, like she's waiting for me to crack and laugh hysterically, but eventually she gives in and reaches forward to turn the tape back on.

"So, we were talking about who the tough opponents are this year. Things seem to be really heating up between you, Geno and Ovie...."

* * *

I don't have a mom to come and take care of me. There's no one to take away my bucket of sick when it starts to get full, no one to hold my hair back while I wretch my guts out, over and over until I know I've pulled a muscle in my chest, maybe broken a rib or two.

There's also no one to see the clumps of hair coming out on my brush when I tie it back to go to sleep, or empty the drain catch after my shower. There's no one to wake me up when I fall asleep on the toilet because I'm too tired to get up after having the runs. There isn't even anyone to get me another Popsicle from the freezer downstairs because it's all I can keep down. And not the red ones either. The red ones make me sick.

I have found a use for the mirrors above Con's bed though, as I lie here in the dark, with nothing but the light of the neon from the car dealership two doors down to light up the early hours of the morning. After everyone's gone home I can lie here and look up at my reflection and wonder who the Nazi death camp escapee is looking back at me.

I've lost ten pounds. I've been trying to lose ten pounds for the last six months. Not that I'd recommend chemo as a diet and anyways, it doesn't look good on me, probably because I'm so pale, deathly pale. But then I am dying. They call it a cure, but it's radiation poisoning and it's slowly killing me.

I just have to make it through four more treatments. Only four, I have no idea how I'm going to live through this.

* * *

"I just don't want to go," I shrug, refusing to explain myself to Jordy and Max as they stand over me, staring down at me like I've just said something outrageous.

"Of course you want to go," Max insists, his thick bushy eyebrows lowering to make his brown eyes almost invisible, "you want to see that bartender chick again, don't you?"

"Not really," I shrug, turning my attention back to tying my shoes so they won't see the lie in my eyes. I do want to see her. I just don't really want a crowd along when I do. It seems like I can't make up my mind to ask her out. Not that's she's given me much of an opportunity, but then again, I am an optimist. I have to be.

"What do you mean, not really?" Max barks at me, giving me an impatient glare when I look up at him.

"I mean, don't you think we should, y'know, be concentrating on our game? I mean, things are just starting to go right and we're finding our groove and I think we should concentrate on that. I mean, it was one thing before to be looking for some kind of distraction but...now things are better so...why push our luck?" The sentiment is true, if a bit misleading, but I know they'll believe me when I say it. Jordy nods, accepting the return of the 'it's all about hockey' Sidney, but Max is still staring at me like he's ready to call me on my bullshit. Luckily for me, I'm used to staring down reporters while I spout shit I only half believe.

"So you won't go? That's it? That's your final answer?"he asks, tilting his head to the side and giving me that 'I know you're up to something, I just don't know what' look.

"How many times? I don't want to go," I shrug again, reaching for my bottled water, ready to head out on my own and hoping like hell they take the bait.

"Let Creature be Max, you know we can only talk him into being normal a few times a season," Jordy laughs, shaking his head at me. I notice he has that look on his face like he doesn't quite believe me either but is willing to let it go.

"So you're not going to fight him either?" Max asks, incredulous. "Not even to see your leggy girlfriend?"

"Why don't we just go to Bossanova?" Jordy suggests, neatly avoiding the question. Whether it's for his benefit or mine is anyone's guess, but I appreciate the gesture anyway.

"Fine. Whatever," Max sighs dramatically, throwing up his hands in surrender as he turns on his heel, muttering under his breath en français. I watch him go, then turn my attention back to Jordy who is slipping into his leather jacket.

"Thanks," I offer, watching while he smirks and shakes his head.

"What? I'm in the mood for sushi," he shrugs, barely able to maintain his 'serious' face. That is until I roll my eyes at him.

"You just want to impress legs, be the big celebrity at Bossa, don't you?" I suggest, to which Jordy can only shrug and smile.

"Well, at least I'm gettin' some," he grins, sidestepping a quick boot to his shin. "Besides, you don't need us hanging around all the time, am I right?"

I can only nod and watch him go, grateful that at least one person gets me, sort of. Now I just have to put my plan into action and hope it works because I really, really need to be able to think about something other than her.

* * *

"We should do something with your hair," Tish suggests, lifting the limp strands of my hair in her hands and then staring down in shock as clumps of it come out and remain draped over her fingers. "Shit...oh shit Randi, your beautiful hair."

"That's nothing," I sigh, leaning forward to check out my newest and to me, most alarming side effect of the chemo. "I thought I had black eyes when I woke up this morning," I explain, running my fingers over the dark hollows beneath my eyes, "until I figured out it was my eyelashes."

"Oh...christ." I look up at her reflection in the mirror, watching as her hands fly up to her mouth, likely to stop any number of expletives from leaking out.

"Yeah, pretty right?" I sigh, blinking at my own reflection, a sight I barely recognize anymore.

"Well that's it," Tish snaps, turning and yanking open a box that's been sitting on the foot of the bed for two weeks, waiting for this day. Flipping the lid off, she digs through the contents and pulls out a pair of wigs, holding them up on her hands for me to see, one black with red streaks and one Pippi Longstocking red. "Time for these. Which one do you want to wear tonight?"

"Tonight? Oh Tish, I can barely move and I can't even imagine eating, never mind drinking any of these," I sigh, fingering the colourful and certainly enticing menu from the Pens favourite restaurant that Tish has printed off the net in an attempt to get me to agree to go with her. "I can hardly even taste anything and I'm just so tired," I explain while Tish ignores me, gently pulling my hair back and up into a pony tail, wrapping it into a tight bun and then pinning it up.

"All the books say sitting in your room in the dark is a quick road to depressionville," she warns, tugging the black and red wig down over my scalp, centering it with a little push before reaching for my brush and with a wrinkling of her usually perfectly straight nose, deciding on using her fingers instead. "So if you won't go with us, then at least go down to the bar and have a drink and talk to Matts while he serves customers." I open my mouth to object but Tish gives a little tug on the wig and narrows her eyes at me. "I won't be able to have fun if I have to think of you up here feeling sorry for yourself. "

"Don't you think I have every reason in the world to feel sorry for myself?" I sigh, gazing at my newly even more unrecognizable reflection in the mirror. Very pale, very goth.

"Sure you do, but no one says that sitting around moping and feeling sorry for yourself are very helpful in getting better do they? " she asks, stepping back and tilting her head to one side while she surveys her handiwork. "Now, get out your makeup while I pick out something for you to wear, and," she holds up a long slim finger pointed at me in warning, "no arguments."

* * *

At first I didn't even think she was in the club and I was almost ready to down the remnants of my drink and leave, resigning myself to spending the remainder of the night watching Jordy's new flame wrap around him like some kind of articulating double jointed circus performer. Then I saw her, swaying in time to the slow r&b groove in the semi dark of the dance floor.

She wasn't wearing anything as flamboyant as the last few times I'd seen her. In fact the little black dress, fishnet stockings and knee high black patent boots seemed dressed down for her, but even so, she was still the most beautiful woman on the dance floor by far. There were better dancers, scantier clad girls with lean, muscular, tanned bodies, but I didn't see them. I could only see her.

She swayed, her eyes closed, a peaceful look on her face as if she was in a stream and being carried away by the current and it was the best thing she could think of. She didn't seem aware of any of the other dancers, didn't seem to notice the heat of their bodies near hers, their sweat, their voices. It was as if she was alone out there, dancing, just for me.

I was so mesmerized I forgot all about my drink, about my seat. It was as if I was drawn to her, as if she was tugging me on a string and I had no choice but to go to her. My hands itched to reach out and place themselves on her hips as she moved to the music. My body ached to press against hers' and find a beat all our own, make our own private dance. I could see myself holding her, pressing my lips to her pale skin just where neck curves behind her ear....

"Oh...sorry...I love this song." Her dark eyes popped open and just for a minute I think to myself that she's taken this whole Goth look thing too far. She's looks too pale, and the make up she has on her eyes is too dark, it makes her look tired and drained; beautiful, but tired.

"I could tell," I offer as she ducks her head so that I don't see the blood rushing into her cheeks, a dark stain that nearly matches the colour she's put into her hair. "So you like Rihanna?" I ask, to make conversation, wishing she'd stayed out on the dance floor, but following her towards the bar anyway.

"I guess, yeah," she shrugs. "I mean, I don't think she's a great role model right now but what can you do? No one's perfect, right?" she asks, reaching out to grip the bar like she needs to do it or else she'd fall down. I've had that effect on women before. I'd just never expected it from her.

"So...can I buy you a drink tonight? I mean...you're not on duty tonight are you?" I ask, glancing at the three bartenders behind the bar, including that hard looking chick with all the tattoos on her arms. I've never liked tats on a woman much, they never seemed very...feminine but as I let my eyes roam over her I find myself wishing the one I've seen at the small of her back wasn't hidden from me tonight and I can't help but wonder if there's any more..._art work_ I might find if I peeled the dress back from her shoulder....

"I'm not on," she agrees, glancing at the big blonde barman as he rounds the corner, his gaze settling possessively on her. They exchange a look that I don't understand but I feel her cool fingers slide over mine and look down to see her looking up at me as if she wants to explain something but then she's gone, like a ghost, vaporising into the crowd and leaving me standing all alone at the bar.


	5. Chapter 5

_Okay so they lost the first game. I always say it isn't over til it's over and now for Sid and Randi...game on.  
_

C5

"It's not fair!" Sidney yelled, slamming his stick against the boards hard enough that it shattered in his hands, sending the blade and part of the shaft skidding down the ice. He stared after it, shaking his head. He'd tripped the guy, of course he had, and he wasn't going to argue the point, even though the ref was giving him that tired look as if he was expecting just that. Keeping in mind Sarge's words and his new coach's request, Sidney kept pressed his lips tightly together and headed silently for the box.

After all, it wasn't the ref that was frustrating him. The zebra hadn't made him give the guy the can opener. He hated losing, especially when things had been turning around lately, but it was more than that. He couldn't concentrate and that pissed him off.

Slamming the door shut on the box, Sidney sat heavily on the bench and hung his head. His mind was everywhere but here. No, that wasn't right either. His mind was in that club with that pale dark haired beauty. He couldn't stop thinking about her, no matter how hard he tried to dismiss her from his mind. Even now, out on the ice, just for a second he'd thought he'd seen her in the crowd. He _never_ looked into the crowd. He never let his concentration waver like that.

He had to get his head on straight. This was exactly why he didn't date, he told himself as he squirted the Gatorade bottle out onto the floor before upending it into his mouth, tasting the sweet, salty liquid as it ran down his throat. He had to focus and he had to lead the team. They were fighting for their play off lives now. Now was not the time to be thinking about girls.

Except she wasn't just any girl; not that he'd exchanged more than a few words with her over the past couple of weeks, but he knew she wasn't just any ordinary girl. Not to him. But for the life of him he couldn't figure out why.

Sure she was beautiful, ethereal even. He remembered that from some movie. But there was more to it than that, not that he could put his finger on just what that was. He felt like she was some kind of princess trapped in a tower and he had to save her. It was a crazy idea but he felt sure in his bones that she needed him and he needed her.

It was crazy, he growled in frustration as he slammed his gloves down. It was crazy thinking shit like this. He was buying into his own hype now. He wasn't a knight on a white horse. He was just a fucking hockey player. That was it. He couldn't save anyone. She probably didn't need saving anyway. He was just making shit up now to justify his obsession.

He had to get his head on straight. He had to stop thinking about her. That was all there was to it.

That, or he had to just tell her how he felt, throw himself at her feet and beg her for a mercy fuck. Well that would be first, but then there was a first time for everything.

* * *

"Do you remember," she begins, pacing impatiently around the room, "when we were at that dinner and you couldn't stop talking about how handsome he was in that tux and that you wouldn't toss him out of bed for eating crackers?" I smile up at her, tugging my blanket closer around my shoulders. I don't need the reminder. It's a nice thought, him in a tux, but I don't need to remember that right now.

"What's your point Tish?" I ask, stifling a yawn behind my hand and trying to force my eyes to stay open while she paces across the floor again, her high heels making a loud clicking sound on the hardwood as steps off the area rug and moves towards the kitchen before turning around to make the same circuit again. It's tiring just watching her pace. If I was doing the same thing right now, I'd probably have already fallen down from exhaustion. That's just the way it is with the chemo. My body keeps trying to tell me that I'm ninety years old and to make matters worse, I haven't eaten protein for a week, unless there's something in ice tea or popsicles that I'm not aware of.

"My point, Randi, is that _the_ most eligible bachelor in town is basically head over heels in love with you and you won't even give him the time of day and I don't get it," she snarls, stopping mid pace to turn and stare me down through her dark rimmed glasses, which makes her look like a very fierce librarian and that thought just makes me giggle. "How is that funny? How can that even be funny to you?" she sighs, shaking her head at me and commencing her pacing once again but this time adding wild, silent, hand gestures that I know full well are meant to stop her from actually throttling me. If I hadn't been sick, she would have just done that instead.

"Well what do you want me to do Tish? In case you hadn't noticed, all my hair is falling out, I've lost almost twenty pounds and believe me, that's not exactly all it's cracked up to be. I can barely make it from the bathroom to the couch without needing a nap...I'm not exactly The Bachelorette here. How do you think I feel? " With a dramatic sigh, Tish turns to me, hands on hips and just stares at me like I'm some kind of disrespectful child that won't listen.

"So you do realize that we're talking about Sidney Crosby here? I mean...if it was Max Talbot I could understand blowing _him_ off. I mean, he's fun and all but a little short and a lot too hairy for my taste," she stares off into the distance over my shoulder and I can't help but wonder what they all got up to at Bossanova the other night but dismiss the thought when her gaze refocuses onto me.

"Before you say it," I hold up my hand, and just for a moment, wonder at how I can see my veins through the back of my hand. I don't remember being able to do that before. "He's...perfect and if I wasn't sick...hell you know I'd be all over that like a kid on a candy bar but...Tish...I feel gross, I _look_ gross...at least when I haven't gone to all the effort to get all dolled up and look half human. I mean...look at me. I look like a fucking alien. He should be saying 'take me to your leader' not... looking at me like he did...," my voice trails off as I think of the way he stared at me the other night downstairs in the club, like he wanted to kiss me. My lips had tingled just looking at him and ever since then I've done very little else but think of what those plump pink lips would feel like pressed against mine. But there's no use. "I can't do this to him Tish. I can't say 'hey, Sidney, would you like to get involved with a woman who might get her boobs lopped off and is full of radioactive isotopes and deadly chemicals?' C'mon Tish. Be real. This isn't something he needs in his life am I right? I mean, if he knew, do you really think he'd be turned on by this?" I ask, tugging off the Pens knit cap Tish got for me and letting the remnants of my once crowning glory escape in all its frizzy splendour. I know what it looks like, patches of white scalp showing through thinning hair, especially near the front. What remains is dry and brittle and lifeless. No amount of TLC, colour or expensive salon product is going to make this look any better than it is.

Tish looks down at me and her face falls in degrees. First there's the shock, the look I see reflected back at me every morning I look in the mirror to see what new hell has greeted me. Then she looks sad, like I did when first my hair started to fall out, holding it in my hands and crying over it as if it was some kind of living thing. Then she does something I haven't quite been able to do. She purses her lips and looks determined.

I know that look. It doesn't bode well for her taking my argument to heart.

* * *

"We're all going to Bossanova for drinks," Max states like it's a done deal. As if we've all taken a vote and it's unanimous. Shaking my head, I reach for my jacket and drape it over my arm.

"No thanks. I'm not in the mood."

"C'mon Creature, it was one loss. Drown your sorrows with us. We'll do some salsa, maybe a little tango and then, if we're lucky, that girl of Jordy's will dance herself right out of her top again," Max adds with a cheeky grin aimed at Staalsy who only rolls his blue eyes and shakes his head, refusing to rise to the bait.

"Really, it sounds...amazing," I begin, knowing full well my voice is literally dripping with sarcasm, "but I'll still pass."

"Come mon ami," Fleur appears in front of me as I turn to go out the door. "You never come anymore with us," he adds, managing to look hurt with his big brown French puppy dog eyes looking back at me fringed with long dark eyelashes that should be on a girl.

"Just...I just don't feel like drinking tonight," I lie. My plans involve a bottle of JD but in the silence of my room, alone, but they don't need to know that. If I tell them that, they might let me go but only to follow me home and drag me out of my pit.

"You need to learn to relax," Billy Guerin, our newest teammate, pats me on the back as he passes by on his way from the showers. He's usually the last out of the trainer's room but then I guess he _is _the old guy around here now.

"I can relax, just not around Max," I add with a half a smile that I hope is enough to make them back off. With a shrug, Fleur turns and shrugs his shoulders at the guys as if to say he's tried. "Have fun. I'll see you in the rink tomorrow," I add, heading out into the night, still cursing myself over missed opportunities.

* * *

"I look like a whore. A cheap, painted whore," I grumble, staring at the clown face looking back at me in the mirror. Well clown face might be a bit of an overstatement but I don't remember ever having this much _stuff_ on my face. In Tish's defence, I don't think I've looked this healthy, _ever_. Not even before I was sick.

"You look great. Tyra Banks wouldn't vote you off top model for looking like that," Tish smiles back at me in the mirror as she tugs the curling iron out of the hair in the wig. It's strange watching her work on my hair while it's sitting on a mannequin's head, but then I wouldn't let her near my actual hair so it will have to do.

"Now promise me," she states very seriously as she inspects her handiwork before picking it up off of the mannequin's head and placing it onto mine, "if he comes tonight, you'll talk to him."

"Oh Tishie," I sigh, closing my eyes while she goes at my head with a can of hairspray, creating a toxic cloud that any exterminator would be proud of.

"It's your last night here, right?" she asks, tugging down on the wig again until I wince which she seems to take as proof positive that it's on well enough. I nod. There's no argument there. Conner and his bride should be back sometime tomorrow and then I'll be back to my own tiny apartment without even having the company of the bar staff to keep me company between bouts of nausea. "Just talk to him Randi. And then, when you're better and I introduce you to him again...." I turn around and stare up at her, narrowing my eyes and pursing my lips.

"What do you mean introduce me to him again? Are you getting serious with Staal?" I ask, in reply to which she turns a deep shade of pink and turns and busies herself with her make up kit. "You are aren't you? You're not just riding that boy like a show pony are you?"

"Well if you'd ever tweet or go on face book or...."

"You know I don't do anything like that," I manage a smile as she bites down on her bottom lip in frustration.

"I know and it's very old fashioned of you, which is why you and Sidney would make an excellent couple. You're both as antediluvian and stubborn as each other." We stare at one another for a moment, both of us trying to hold back the laughter that threatens to bubble up between us but eventually the laughter wins and it feels so good to laugh again, even if it does make my ribs ache. "Seriously Randi," she sighs eventually, wrapping her long arms around my neck and digging her chin into my shoulder, "you never know when...," her voice trails off and I can see the glistening of tears in her dark eyes caught in the lights around the mirror. Sniffing she wills the tears back, then kisses my cheek before withdrawing back to her brushes and combs and bottles upon bottles of hairspray, gel and mousse. "Just...just let yourself have a little happiness. You deserve it Randi. Promise me?"

"I promise." I say the words but I don't really hold out hope of actually keeping that promise, after all, I still think I'm right. Even if he is a knight among men, he's not my knight. If he was meant to be my knight in shining armour, I wouldn't be sick right now.

It just isn't fair.

* * *

The driveway is full of cars, including a rental car, which means my parents are in town. Fucking great. I sit there, with the headlights trained on the brake lights of the nearest car and let out a string of curses under my breath. The last thing I need tonight is to play happy families, or, worse than that. Listen to my dad go on and on about what we could have done better tonight.

Normally I wouldn't mind going over the 'what ifs'. Given the opportunity, I will spend hours going over the tapes, second guessing myself, looking for tendencies I can take advantage of next time.

But not tonight.

Chewing on my bottom lip I gun the engine of the Land Rover and throw it in reverse. I need to drive, to think.

I could go to Bossanova, be with the guys, drink myself to sleep and crash on Max's couch if he doesn't pull tonight. Hell, even if he does hopefully I'd be too drunk to care.

But not tonight. Tonight I'm not in the mood to talk to anyone, and there's one place I can go where someone won't talk to me, but maybe just seeing her will lift my mood. Maybe.

"JD," he snarls, slapping a hundred dollar bill on the machined surface of the aluminum bar, "bring the bottle." Narrowing my eyes at him, I take in his wet hair, the slightly dark rings under his gold flecked eyes and shake my head.

* * *

"Looks like you need sleep, not JD." I push the bill back towards him, reaching for my bar rag to go back to polishing the glasses but he pushes the bill back towards me, a fierceness in his eyes.

"JD, the bottle, just bring it," he snaps, a 'don't fuck with me' look on his face. I look down at the bill and then back up into those normally caramel coloured eyes and wonder just how bad a day has to be to make his handsome face twist that way.

"Tell you what," I push the bill back towards him but put a tumbler on top of it. "I'll buy you this one." Pouring the dark amber liquid into his glass, I reach for another tumbler but the derisive sound coming from his throat stops me mid pour.

"I've been trying to buy you a drink for two weeks," he growls, "don't patronize me now." Ignoring the comment, I pour the second drink and hold it towards him, waiting for him to raise his glass. He stares at me for what seems like a long time but finally raises his glass, tips it against mine hard enough to make the liquid slosh over the rim and then downs his in one gulp, slamming it down against the bar. "Another."

"Sure," I take a sip from my glass and watch his knuckles whiten around his glass as he waits for me to pour again. "I'll just go help these people and I'll be right back." Turning my back on him I smile at the young couple who have just come up to the bar, leaning in to hear their order.

I hear him slam his hand or the glass down on the bar, the sound seems to reverberate even in the din of the awful techno hip hop crap blaring over the speakers. Even the young couple in front of me jump as the bar vibrates under their hands. I see Matt heading for him out of the corner of my eye and hold my hand out to let him know I've got this. Not that I know what I'm going to do, exactly, but the last thing I, or this bar, needs is pictures of Sidney Crosby being tossed out on his ear.

I take their orders, the young clean cut couple who look like they've just stepped out of an American Eagle billboard, and then turn back to Sidney who's staring daggers at his empty glass, as if he could will it to fill on his command. I fill his glass again, and watch him down it again, before he slams the glass on the bar again and looks up at me, daring me to say no.

Smart aleck comments like 'isn't your body supposed to be your temple' dance on the tip of my tongue, but I don't give voice to them. Instead I fill his glass but reach out and cover it with my hand.

"Would you like to...dance?" I suggest, glancing quickly at Matt for permission. As if the boss needs permission, but it would leave him alone at the bar. He nods, as if realizing the same thing I do. My dancing with him is better than his having to toss Sidney out on his ear.

"You won't let me buy you a drink, but you'll dance with me?" he asks, perplexed. Shrugging, I down the remnants of my drink and lift the gate on the bar, stepping through it and offering him my hand. Downing the glass I'd just poured he turns and my hand disappears into his as he tugs me through the crowd, and across the dance floor.

I have a moment to wonder if he's planning on us dancing on a pool table before I realize that I'm stumbling towards the bathrooms and have a moment of blind panic. I'm still trying to decipher his motives when he kicks the bathroom door open and pushes me in front of him, physically urging two stumbling drunks out before pushing the overflowing garbage can in front of the door. That's when it becomes all too clear to me why we're here and even though I know I should be screaming in panic or at the very least trying to talk him out of this, I feel strangely calm. Even when he circles me like a big cat stalking its' prey, I just stand there, watching him, mute.

"You know you want this as much as I do," he says, his voice taking on that almost hysterical lilt, as if he's trying to talk himself into this even more than he is me. I don't answer him. I just watch him pace in front of me, backing up until I can feel the cold steel of the edge of the line of industrial sinks in my hands. "You've been teasing me, you're...you're a fucking cock tease," he growls, wringing his hands as he stares at me.

I keep thinking I should be afraid, but I'm not. The look in his eyes may be almost manic, but there's also a plea in those hazel eyes, to stop him, maybe, but maybe not to stop him as well.

"Have I?" I ask quietly, my gaze holding his as he paces in front of me.

"Tell me you want me," he snaps, but he looks away from me when he says it, like he doesn't actually want to see my reaction.

"I do," I reply quietly, surprising myself with my answer but not nearly as much as he seems to be surprised. I watch him turn to look at me, relief flooding his young face for a moment before the anger and determination replace it.

* * *

My hands shake as I close the gap between us, but I still manage to grab her shoulders and kiss her, crushing my lips over hers' in the way I've imagined doing for the past few days now and just as I imagined it would, her body sways towards mine. For a just a moment I'm thinking clearly enough to think that her lips really do taste like cotton candy, and then her tongue sweeps out along my lips and the coals that have been smouldering inside of me ever since the first moment I saw her suddenly become flames that lick along my skin wherever her body touches mine and I feel like I could combust at any moment.

"Tell me again," I whisper against her lips and she whimpers in response. My hands fall away from where they've left imprints on her shoulders but she doesn't move away from me, only offers her lips again and slides her hand between us, cupping my need through my pants and drawing her fingers over my immediately painful erection. "Tell me again."

"I want you, I've wanted you from the first minute," she whispers against my lips and I lose all control, a fiery haze making me blind as I lift her onto the counter, biting at her neck as I struggle to free myself. I hear her cry out as I shove the lace and satin of her panties aside and push my way inside her but it doesn't even occur to me that I could have hurt her. All I can feel is how het and wet she is, how tight, and how soft all at the same time. All I can think is that I haven't been able to think of anything but this for days now and that maybe it actually feels better than I even imagined it would. "Harder," she whispers against my lips and I want to tell her that if I do I won't last another minute but that's when the door flies open and the garbage can goes over with a deafening crash and my next thought is 'reporters' or at least someone getting a shot of this very compromising position and then I'm tucking myself back into my pants and disappearing through the crowd, my heart hammering against my chest so hard I can barely breathe, my pulse hammering so quickly that all I can hear is the sound of my own blood racing through my veins.

* * *

Wrapping my arms protectively around my knees, I sit on the stairs of the fire escape in the dark, rocking, with tears streaming down my face.

"I thought you said I wasn't coming back to you in a state." I look up to find, not the young handsome pale face of my lover but the young tanned face of my little brother, the tropical beauty of his new wife on his arm.

"Oh this," I sniff, wiping at my tears with the back of my hand. "PMS. Think nothing of it." I lie, blinking away my tears and forcing all thoughts of Sidney to the back of my mind. Pushing myself to my feet, a wave of nausea and dizziness makes me sway and I end up in Conner's arms, my frail body pressed to the width of his chest.

"Bullshit sis," he sighs, sweeping me off of my feet and up into his arms, cradling my weight against his body, clearly expecting the solid sister he'd left three weeks ago. "What the fuck?" he hisses, adjusting my body in his arms, like he's weighing a dead fish.

"I'll explain," I promise, closing my eyes against the wave of nausea, praying that I won't be sick on my baby brother in front of his wife. "Just get me upstairs and I'll explain everything."

"I knew we shouldn't have gone. Didn't I say we shouldn't have gone?" He grunts, glancing over his shoulder at his wife who only shakes her head and rolls her eyes at me, leaving me to wonder how many times she had to stop him from calling to check on me while they were gone.

"Upstairs Con, now please," I moan, covering my mouth as if that will hold back the bile and vomit that are rushing up from my stomach.

"Right, and then you're going to tell what the fuck is going on here," he snaps, charging up the stairs as if I weight nothing, which right now, to him, I probably don't.

Oh, I'll explain everything, I think to myself as he puts his shoulder into the door and shoves it open. I'll just leave out the part about Sidney. Cancer is bad enough. I can't even explain the other stuff to myself let alone my brother. He won't be able to kill the caner as much as I know he'll want to, but Sidney...? Yeah he would definitely kill Sidney.


	6. Chapter 6

_Yeah Pens! Boo Detroit!_ _As for Sid and Randi....well I hope you enjoy a little angst_!

C6

I was half way across town before I backed off of the accelerator pedal. I think I'd also been holding my breath because it all came out in a big gust as I lay my forehead against the steering wheel and closed my eyes.

What in the hell had just happened?

I never do anything spontaneously. At least not without someone like Max or Army putting a gun to my head and forcing me into it. So where in the _hell_ did that come from?

I wasn't raised to do things like that. I never treat people like that, especially women. Sure, I've snuck out of my fair share of apartments before the sun's come up but I've never, _ever_, done anything like that.

But she wanted me. She kissed me back and now I've gone and blown everything by running out of there like a frightened rabbit.

Who does that?

She probably thinks I'm the biggest jerk ever. She wanted me and now she probably thinks I'm the biggest jackass she's ever laid eyes on. Fuck!

Slamming my hands on the steering wheel I curse until my throat starts to hurt, until my voice sounds hoarse and I'm sure I won't be able to talk to her even if I do get up the nerve to turn around and go back to apologize. Not that I'd speak to me if I was in her shoes. I wouldn't blame her if she threw that bottle of JD right in my face and….

Hanging from the buttons on the cuff of my dress shirt is a necklace, a fine gold chain and a locket. It must have caught on my shirt when I grabbed her and kissed her. The memory of her soft sugary lips pressed against mine makes me groan out loud, clenching my teeth as I gently untangle the chain from where it's snagged around the button.

An impatient blast of a horn behind me brings me back to my senses long enough to pull onto a side street where I park beneath a street lamp and stare down at the locket.

I shouldn't look. After all, I don't know anything about this girl. Apart from the fact that I'm crazy in love with her that is. The right thing to do would be to just turn around and give it to her, without looking inside. Except for the fact that it's broken, I realize as I draw the chain across the palm of my hand. I can't give it back to her like this. It's probably an heirloom. The pictures inside are probably of her great grandparents.

That's when I decide I should look inside after all. I mean, if I'm going to have the chain fixed, I need to be sure of what's inside of the locket so I'll know if it comes back from the jewellers complete. I tell myself it will just be a little peek, no harm done, right?

Taking the locket venerably in my hands, I open the latch and carefully press the sides open to reveal a faded photograph of a young couple that look like they've stepped off of the set of Saturday Night Fever, big hair and pork chop sideburns. Her parents I assume, moving on to the other tiny photo, a grainy black and white photo like you get out of those two dollar photo booths in the mall of a good looking guy with dark hair and a lecherous smile.

Her boyfriend. Has to be.

Snapping the locket shut I shove it in my pocket and then point the Land Rover back towards the road. I'll get the damn thing fixed and then I'll take it back to her and that will be that. I need to concentrate on hockey anyway. We're fighting for our lives here. I don't need some chick getting into my head when I'm aiming for the playoffs anyway.

* * *

My heart is hammering hard in my chest as I swim for the surface of consciousness, panic gripping me as I reach out, screaming hoarsely for help.

"It's okay, it's okay, I'm here." The hands that I had just been dreaming were attached to a shadowy figure shoving me into a dark grave turn out to be Conner's and my heart rate immediately slows, although the panic doesn't cease altogether. The terror of seeing myself in a grave, my fingers digging in the dirt and roots around me, hasn't completely left my mind.

"Where's here?" I ask groggily, feeling the plastic tubes in my nose and the sharp pinch of a drip in my arm and the tight pull of the contacts to the leads that have that beeping sound coming from a box somewhere behind my head.

"You're in the hospital," Conner replies quietly, looking down at me with that big brother look, the 'what have you got yourself into this time?' look.

"Why?" I ask groggily pushing myself up onto my elbows to get a better look around, but even that leaves me winded and feeling like I've just gone ten rounds with George Laroque.

"Well I could play dumb and say I've been waiting for you to tell me but..._cancer_ Randi? When the fuck were you planning on telling me?" he asks, trying to look stern, attempting to mimic the look dad used to get on his face right before he took off his belt and gave one of us a good wallop across our backside. Instead though, Conner ends up looking hurt and scared. Scared for me, no doubt, but scared for himself too. I wasn't at the hospital when mom died, he was.

"When you and Iz got back, I swear," I whisper, leaning against his muscular forearm and closing my eyes. "Don't be mad Con, please. I'm too tired to fight with you." I can feel the tension humming through him as if he's touching an electrical fence and letting the energy run through him to the ground, he's fairly vibrating with what I know is the tumult of emotions he must be feeling. I know how I would be if I were I in his shoes right now.

"Don't....just...don't, okay?" I feel the tremor run down Conner's arm into our clasped hands. Opening my eyes, I peer up at him to find his strong, square jaw firmly clenched and tears glistening in his dark eyes even though the look in his eyes is nothing less than ferocious.

"I'm not going to die," I promise, though I feel less like I can follow through on that promise than I have since the diagnosis.

"Promise?" he whispers, his bottom lip quivering and suddenly he's eleven years old again opening the door and throwing himself into my arms, crying his little eyes out. It takes nearly all the strength I have left to paste a smile on my face and squeeze his hand, but I do it, because he's my little brother and he's all I have left in the world.

"I promise Con, I promise."

* * *

With her locket safely in the box the jeweller gave it back to me and in tucked in my pocket, I push the doors to the bar open, taking a deep breath as I steel my resolve. I owe her an apology, if nothing else. Having slept on it, I realize I'm lucky she didn't go running to the press about our little "incident". I still can't say what came over me, but having had the night to think it over, I know that any woman who makes me do crazy shit like that is a woman I can't have anything to do with.

"Sid. Nice to see you. What'll it be? The usual?"

I look up to see the regular bartender, Conner I think his name is, the big guy with the sleeves of traditional tats standing behind the bar in his usual place, bar rag in hand, wiping down the bar where I'm standing. I nod at him, as I usually do, but look around him, peering down the bar, looking for the girl.

"Where's...ummmm...," I wrack my brain, realizing that I never even bothered with the niceties like first names and feel shame flood my face, "the ummm, woman who was working here for like...the past week or so?" I look back at Conner whose smile has disappeared as he narrows his eyes at me, as if he's considering whether or not to answer me.

"She was _temporary_," he emphasizes the word in a way that makes it crystal clear that he won't be saying any more on the subject. Nodding, I slide my hand into my pocket, closing my fingers around the small cardboard box. The right thing to do would be to give it to him, I know, to ask him to make sure it's returned to her, but somehow I can't do it.

"Yeah, just...uh...JD thanks," I smile up at him, to which he merely nods, grabbing a tumbler from beneath the bar and running it swiftly through the vat of ice cubes before turning his wide back on me to reach for the bottle.

I had convinced myself, was so _sure_ that I didn't want to see her again, but as I hold out a folded bill towards the bartender, I realize with a sinking feeling that it just isn't true. The disappointment at not seeing her, at not finding her friendly smile behind the bar is not just disappointing. It's devastating.

I have to find her.

The bar keep has made it plain he isn't going to give out the information I need, but there has to be some way to track her down, some way to find her and see her again, because I have to apologize in person. That's what it is. I have to apologize to her. Just giving her back her necklace isn't enough. She has to know that I'm sorry.

That's all it is, I tell myself solemnly as I sip at the golden liquid, enjoying the burn at the back of my throat and the comforting warmth as the amber liquid makes its' way down to my stomach. I just have to know that she really understands that what happened just wasn't me. I'm not like that. I just need to be sure she understands that. Then I can forget about her because I don't need a woman in my life that makes me do crazy shit like that.

So I'll find her and give her the necklace back and apologize and then it will all be over and then I'll be able to go back to concentrating on making the playoffs. Yeah, I nod to myself as I down the rest of the drink and turn to go. That's it. That's exactly what will happen; even if her lips do taste like cotton candy.

* * *

"Ready Teddy?" Tish holds her hands out to me where I sit perched on the edge of the hospital bed, trying to put together the will to actually walk out of here, all the way to her car. Right now that seems like a really long trip.

"You left my magazines right? They have such a crap selection here," I mutter, really to buy myself more time, although it is true. It seems like all the nurses read is Vogue and Cosmo. Between what Izzy and Trish brought me, I know that we'll be leaving behind a lot of good entertainment value and some solid trashy romance stories for the other patients to while away the time. After all, in a hospital, it seems like there is nothing but time.

"Yeah, yeah. Quit stalling. Let's go. I have a date tonight with Jordy I don't want to miss," Tish grins down at me, making insistent and impatient gestures at me with her hands outstretched. "Let's go missy before I get one of those oversize orderlies to toss you over their shoulder like a sack of potatoes and carry you out of here." I groan at the thought of such rough treatment and let her pull me to my feet instead, slipping into my new pair of camo ballet slippers, my one and only concession to fashion in my current state.

Glancing around the room, I make a quick mental sweep for any left behind possessions but it seems as though Tish, as usual, is more organized than I am, a fact she's obviously picked up on as she rolls her eyes at me behind the lenses of her Perry Ellis glasses.

"I triple checked. Don't worry. You're not missing a thing," she smiles, moving to slide her arm around my shoulders and lead me out of the room, but I only get as far as the door before I stop, that nagging feeling of certainty that I'm missing something stopping me mid shuffle.

"Are you sure Tish? I'm sure there's something...," I turn and slowly sweep the room with my gaze, looking for anything that doesn't look like it belongs in the white and mint green hospital room.

"It's that new anti nausea meds they've put you on. You'll have to talk to Catherine about the side effects," Tish sighs, looking down at the handful of new meds the doctors have provided. I don't even want to think how much all of those pills are going to cost.

"No...there's something...I'm sure there's something...," I mumble, closing my eyes to do a mental inventory of what I had when Conner brought me here. "Oh my god!" My hands fly to my throat, finding nothing but naked skin. "Tish, my locket...where's my locket?" I turn and almost fall in my haste to rifle through the sheets, tossing the starchy pillows on the floor as I search the bed. "I was wearing it. You know I never take it off." Alarm making my heart hammering against my ribs as I tug on the bed-sheets, knowing that it isn't really possible that my necklace could have come off and made its' way beneath the fitted sheet but I can't not look either.

"Are you sure you didn't leave it back at the apartment?" Tish asks, carefully putting my overnight bag down and joining the search, patting the palms of her hands over the discarded pillows.

"I don't know. Con said I was puking and then I passed out and...," I pause, my hands going back up to my throat, trying to force the med induced fog off of my brain. "I don't know. I mean...he might have taken it off for safe keeping," I admit, though there's a tiny part of my brain that is still insisting that this isn't possibly the right explanation.

"Well there you go," Tish sighs, shaking her head as she turns back to pick up my bags. "We'll phone Con when we get to the car, wake him up, he'll tell you he has it, and everything will be just fine." I nod, though I'm still sure that she's wrong even though it clearly isn't here either. "If not," Tish adds, wrapping her arms around me and pressing her cheek to mine, "I will personally come down here and strip search all the male nurses and hot doctors until I find it." I can't help but smile at the thought of her ordering a room full of guys to strip while she walks up and down the line in her crisp white shirt, black pencil skirt and six inch red patent leather mary jane stilettos, a riding crop in one hand and a video camera in the other. "There. That's better, you're smiling. Now, c'mon sicko, let's get you home and into your own bed."


	7. Chapter 7

_two things. 1. That was an AWFUL game on Sunday. Let's hope the boys play better in front of Fleur tomorrow. 2. Let's all have a thought for the men and women overseas and all their loved ones at home. Canada lost another young man today in Afghanistan. It's so senseless. _

C7

"Oh no you don't," Jordy holds his hands up as he shakes his head at me. "You are not horning in on my booty call to ask about the girl at the bar."

"All I want is for you to ask her, just get her name or her number for me. God! Is it really asking that much?" I sigh, slamming my cards down on the table and pushing my chair back, making a loud scraping noise as I do. I don't really want to pick a fight with Jordy but if he's flying his new squeeze into Montreal for a booty call, it seems to me that considering she _is_ coming all this way she won't mind answering a couple simple questions. He, on the other hand, is making it sound like I want to implement Chinese Water Torture or something.

"I'm not flying her in to _talk_ to her," he laughs, pulling the pot of poker chips towards himself and laughing, "although she says some crazy dirty shit in bed, I'm telling you," he adds with a mischievous grin. I find myself clenching my teeth as I look over at him. I had my chance at that, I'm almost sure of it, but now I'm pretty sure that will never happen, at least not with my mystery lady. I can't believe that I never even asked her name.

"I can't believe she's flying in for you," Max shakes his head as he deals out the next cards. I shake my head when he looks up at me. I'm no good at poker anyway. I always lose. "Now me, I can totally see her coming to see _me_. Are you sure she's _not_ coming to see me buddy?" Max asks, dodging a playful swing that Jordy aims towards his head.

"You're both wrong," Flower laughs, sitting back in his chair, tipping it onto two legs and propping his feet up on the table. "Je suis irresistible."

"I think Veronique might have something to say about that," Jordy chuckles, peeking under his card and smiling. I can't believe he's winning. He so does not have a poker face. Still...now that he's in a good mood and he's winning....

"If I could just find out her name," I ask, quietly, as I glance over Max's shoulder at the card he's peeling up and giving Jordy the crown size so he knows he's up against a face card. Now I'm helping him cheat. What more does a guy have to do?

"I don't know what the big deal is," he sighs, putting his cards down and folding his long, slim hands across his narrow chest. "It's not like you can't just walk down to the lobby and take your pick." Shaking my head at him I turn my back. I'm all too aware of the number of young girls, jail bait really, waiting outside in the frigid Montreal night, waiting, hoping we'll come out. Fortunately I don't have to reply to Jordy's remark. He knows that's something I would just never do, again. I know too well the hope that those girls hold out when they take any one of us to bed. They want to marry the million dollar dream. All we want is a fuck. It's coarse and unsatisfying and usually embarrassing.

No guy wants to leave a girl crying. It's a mood killer.

"What about the twins? I have them on speed dial," Max suggests, waving his blackberry invitingly in the air. The twins. Everyone on the team knows about the twins. They get passed around the team, and probably the league, like a well used deck of cards. At first it was great. I mean, it is every guy's fantasy to bed a pair of beautiful women and it's only a bonus if they're actually sisters, never mind honest to god twins. But after a couple times, it's just...work.

Besides, I'm getting too old for this shit. That's something I can't explain to these guys. Well maybe Fleur, but then he is the only one of us in a steady relationship. He'll marry Vero and they'll have a herd of kids and live happily ever after. I don't know about settling down, but I do know that I can't live above Mario's garage much longer, not least of all because I'm tired of hearing about it from guys on other teams. The soothers in Washington may have been about my chirping at the refs but...I have to admit it hit close to home.

"No, thanks anyway Max," I sigh, staring down at my laptop sitting closed on the end of my bed. I can't stop thinking about getting that necklace back to her. I just wish I could find some way of tracking her down short of putting out a missing person's report and an amber alert.

There has to be some way.

* * *

"I feel like a mushroom," I yawn as I stretch my aching limbs and sniff at the warm, apple and cinnamon scented air, "all pale and squishy" I add as reach to pull open the oven door to see what scrumptious item is cooking inside.

"Don't you dare," Izzy warns without even looking up from her knitting. Booties. It makes my heart ache to look at the little pale yellow and blue rows of soft yarn she is working on. Of course I've frozen a number of eggs, but who knows if I'll ever get the chance to use them. "So are you up, up? Or will you be heading back to your cave as soon as you've eaten again?" she asks, one side of her lips curling up in a half smile. She, like me, iss pleased that my appetite seems to be returning, even if, so far, it only runs to baked goods.

"Up, up I think," I reply, testing the theory by remaining on my feet and not heading directly for a chair. "What's in the oven?" I ask reaching for the handle again only to be stared down by Izzy's almond shaped dark brown eyes.

"Upside down apple cake, but it isn't ready to come out and it won't rise if you keep stomping around like a herd of elephants. Now, go call Patricia. She's been calling non stop for hours." Grinning to myself at the thought of Tish ever bothering to call more than once if she has better things to do, I reach for the phone, taking it off of its' stand and pointing my finger at the redial button. "And have a shower. You stink," Izzy adds without so much as looking up from her clicking knitting needles.

Obediently I turn and head for the bathroom, phone in hand. After all, that's what speaker phone is for, and lately, I can't stand to shower. The feeling of the water drumming down on my skin is enough to make me cry. So instead I reach into the tub, turn the water on and run it over my hand, looking for that perfect mix of just hot enough that isn't scalding, and then sit down on the edge of the tub and hit the redial button.

"_Finally_!" Tish's voice rings out breathlessly on the other end of the line. She's walking, somewhere outside, I can hear the traffic and the click of her heels on pavement. "_Back to the land of the living I hope. Oooops...sorry, my bad_," she mumbls and I can picture her putting her hand over her mouth and rolling her eyes.

"Yeah, I feel like I am. Radiation is a lot better than chemo," I muse, yawning again as I stretch my free arm over my head. "So what about you? You enjoying the snow?"

"_I am **so **bringing you back so many prezzies_," she giggles and I realize that she's probably not alone and wonder if it's just the tall blonde Jordan Staal with her or if she might be with some of the other members of the team. "_We're just on our way out to lunch with Jordy's brother_," she explains, as if she can hear my unspoken question, "_but I had to get a hold of you. You haven't checked your damn email in days_!" she snaps as if it's the end of the world.

"You're right, I haven't but it's not like there's ever anything but spam and junk in it these days," I sigh, turning to wave my toes through the water, momentarily entranced by the waves they make in the steaming water. "Why?"

"_He's only put an add on Craigslist_," she hisses, and again I can picture her covering her mouth with her hand, as if that will stop anyone from hearing her.

"Who did what?" I ask, putting my feet firmly in the bottom of the tub and standing up, shedding my scruffy robe and sinking happily into the steaming heat.

"_You aren't awake are you_?" Tish grumbles, a deep growl emanating from deep in her throat.

"I am," I insist, unable to keep the laughter out of my voice, knowing full well how much it irritates her when people don't keep up. "I just don't know what you're talking about. Are we talking Jordan or...."

"_Don't be obtuse_," she snaps again. "_Sidney. He's only gone and put an add on Craigslist for your locket, he showed it to us over breakfast. I emailed the link to you_," she hisses into the phone, as if she's worried about being overheard, which I guess is fair enough. Meanwhile it feels like the water around me has suddenly turned to ice and the blood in my veins with it. "_What? You've got **nothing **to say to that? Don't you think you've got some explaining to do_?"

"Does he…does he have it with him?" I ask, ignoring her plea as my hand brushes the bare skin at my throat.

"_Does he…? Randi, the guy is obviously head over heels for you. Who cares if he has it with him? And before you ask, no I am not going to get it for you_." I can hear the exasperation in her voice and normally that would be enough to snap me out of the far-away place I've gone to in my head. Closing my eyes, as I have done over and over since that night, I can taste his lips, feel his vice like grip on my hips as he drilled his way inside of me and I hear myself gasp out loud as the sense memory overtakes me. "_Randi? **Miranda**! Are you okay_?" Her voice seems very far away as I grip the edges of the porcelain tub, taking deep breaths as I try to shake off the feeling of his lips pressed against mine.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," I sigh, pressing my fingers to my lips where I can still feel a faint tingling. "Can't you just ask him for it Tish, please? I can't…I just can't right now." I know I don't have to explain it to her again but I can hear her sigh heavily anyway.

"_You **said **you were feeling better_," she counters, but I can hear in her voice that she's given up.

"Feeling better isn't _better_," I remind her, letting myself slide down into the enveloping heat of the water. "Just…I can't see him Tish, okay? Just…please ask him for it for me."

"_Oh so what do I say? You know that necklace you showed me that I pretended not to recognize from that girl I know? Yeah, can I have that cuz she's like the only woman on earth that doesn't want to see you? You know what Randi? You're not going to have cancer forever. I get that your sick but, __seriously, you can stay awake long enough to go out on __**one **date_."

"It's not just staying awake," I begin to argue, only to hear the sound of yet another exasperated sigh on the other end of the line.

"_Fine, I will tell him you're sick so he knows ahead of time. Will **that **make you happy_?" she asks, sounding more irritated by the moment.

"Gee Tish, what a fabulous idea. That has to be at the top of every guy's most wanted list in a girlfriend; breast cancer. If you're going to do that, don't forget to toss in that after all this chemo and radiation that I'm barren too," I snarl back, feeling really angry at her for being so insensitive.

"_Oh, c'mon, you don't even know if he wants kids_," she begins, and then I'm quite sure I hear another voice nearby. I can't hear what he says, but I am sure it's a guy, which probably means it's Jordan Staal, which makes me want to find a toaster and pull it into the bath with me. "_Okay, so maybe he does but...well you can always adopt for crying out loud_."

"Tish...please. Don't help. I know you mean well...," I sigh, hoping she'll take the hint, hear how tired this whole argument is making me and just leave it. Of course I know better. Once she's gotten a hold of something, she'll worry it to death.

"_So we'll tell him something else. You're going through a nasty divorce, or you're in the witness protection program or._..." As much as her dramatic ideas amuse me I just don't want to hear anymore.

"I told you Tish, I'm just not up to it right now," I mumble, glancing down at the blue veins in the back of my hands where they're trailing through the water, the bones of my wrists jutting out at odd angles. "Not right now."

"_Grrrr. Whatever. We're at the restaurant now. We **will **talk about this when I get back_," she snarls, sounding just like my mother would have. 'Just wait 'til your father comes home, then you're really in for it'. Smiling at the image, I hang up the phone.

At least now I know where my locket is, I think as I let myself slide under the water until I'm entirely immersed, staring up at the ceiling through the water, watching the bubbles rise from my lips to pierce the surface.

It seems so peaceful, I think to myself as I the noise of the world is filtered through, now only a faint rumbling somewhere off in the distance. For now, the pain has eased, and I can feel the rumbling and gurgling in my stomach that tells me I'm hungry and a very, very handsome man wants to see me again. I should be feeling better. I should be feeling on top of the world.

So why do I not want to break the surface? Why do I want to just close my eyes and let myself peacefully drown?

* * *

"Awww, still no emails Romeo?" Max bounces on the end of the bed, reaching for the bag of chips that Fleur has been munching on while he watches the movie, the movie that I got bored of long ago, which is when I flipped open my lap top.

"Laissez-le seul," Fleur sighs, rolling over to make room for Max as he chews noisily and then reaches for Fleur's beer which he pulls out of his reach with a glare.

"Oh come on, you don't find this hilarious? Did you see all those little hotties at the game tonight? I mean, yeah, New York definitely has its fair share of skanks but he could have his pick and…."

"And he doesn't want any of those Max, now drop it," Fleur grumbles, aiming a kick towards Max that he dodges as he jumps off the bed to try and look over my shoulder, but I'm already closing the lap top, to which, thankfully, he doesn't have the password.

"C'mon, the rest of the guys are heading out to a club, let's go," Max begs, tugging at my shoulder.

"I'm not in the mood," I mumble, shrugging him off, knowing full well that what I've just done is like waving a red cape at a bull, but for some reason I'm helpless to stop myself from doing it.

"You're never in the damn mood, but you're coming anyway," he growls, grabbing for my arm which I pull out of his grasp, shooting what I know is my 'don't even fucking think about it look'.

"Laissez le Max," Fleur sighs, reaching for the remote and turning up the volume, which, to any sane person, would be the signal to leave, but not Max.

"You're both a couple of vieilles dames," he snorts, tugging my chair backward so that I tip and almost fall out. Luckily my reflexes save the day and I land on my feet, dukes up, praying that Max will let me fight with him. Because that's really what I want tonight, I want to stick my fist in someone's face and feel my knuckles hitting bone. I want to hear the sound of teeth being knocked out. I want to let all my frustrations out and Max has been goading me for days and right now I'd love to wipe the smug look off of his face.

"Peux tu ne pas le laisser seul Max? He doesn't want to go, okay? _We _don't want to go, okay?" Fleur steps between us, holding us both at arm's length. "You two, tu es mes meilleurs amis. No fighting okay?" Fleur gives me that hang dog look, like he's just tired and wants to roll up with his favourite bone and be left in peace. I know the feeling.

"It's not me, it's _him,"_ I insist, but Fleur just keeps staring at me and I know without my having to say it that Max isn't going to let this go until we go out. "Okay, fuck…a couple hours, but that's fucking it. I don't even want to go out." Even though Fleur looks relieved I shoot him an unhappy look. I hate being ganged up on and I hate that Max seems to always get what he wants, including women, which is part of why I haven't wanted to go out with them. The last thing I want to do is watch him stick his tongue down some woman's throat. Not tonight.

"Maybe you can try to get more information out of Jordy's ami trés special," Fleur grins at me, as if that's some kind of consolation. But then he could be right. A couple of stiff drinks and maybe she won't be as reluctant to talk about this friend that she claims not to know well. They certainly looked cozy enough that first night.

"Okay, okay, we'll go. You win," I sigh, shaking my head and heading for the shower. Some friends I have.

* * *

"But I saw the two of them, she knows her Jordy. I mean, at least her name?" I beg, staring him down across the table where he's chosen to sit to watch his lady get her groove on out on the dance floor. I, personally wouldn't trust my girlfriend with Max and Tanger out on the dance floor, but Jordy doesn't look worried.

"For the last time Croz, if you want to ask, ask her yourself. I am _not _asking her for you. Can I offer a word of advice though?" he asks, managing to tear his eyes off of her writhing and twisting movements long enough to meet my pleading gaze. "I'd drop it if I were you okay? There might be...reasons she doesn't want to be found." He fixes me with his icy blue eyes, the serious Jordy, the listen to me or else I'll get my brothers to beat you silly look. I've seen it before. It doesn't impress me.

"You just want to be the one with the girl for a change, whatever, I get it," I sigh again, feeling my shoulders slumping in defeat as I tear my gaze away from his and back onto the untouched amber liquid in my glass. "I'll just ask her myself," I add, even though I can feel the settling of a lead weight in my stomach. I feel like I'm back at Shattucks, crushing on some figure skater that I'm too tongue tied to ask out. Here he comes again, awkward chubby Sidney hanging with the cool kids because he's been on TV.

"Ask who what?" Patricia jumps into Jordy's lap, grabbing his face in both of her hands and planting a long wet kiss on his lips before stealing my drink from between my hands and downing it in one gulp, closing her eyes and shaking off the burn before offering me the empty glass. I don't know what you call a person that can drink everything on a table, not a billy goat I'm sure but...whatever it is, she's it.

"The girl, at the bar," I begin, but can get no more out of my mouth than that before she leans in and presses her hand over her mouth, shaking her head and looking very serious.

"No, no you can't have her," she grins, shaking her long finger at me as she sways on Jordy's lap, one arm around his neck, both of her legs over his lap. "Do you know why?" she hiccups, looking very serious but slurring her words at the same time.

"I hope you're not going to tell him," Jordy sighs, reaching up to capture her face in his hand but she smacks his hand away like it's no more than a troublesome moth. I bet there are a few guys in the league who would like to do that.

"She has this really great boyfriend, but he's away in Iraq and she hasn't heard from him in..._weeks_," she points at me dramatically, levelling her long blood red fingernail right at my face, making me cross eyed as I stare at it, wondering if she's going to poke my eyes out with it. "She's so worried, you wouldn't believe it. I mean, can you imagine? Not knowing if he's alive or...having his head...," she draws her blood read fingernail slowly across my throat, her eyes opening wide before she shakes her head and shivers. "Musn't talk about it. Nope. Bad luck. Come on Jordy, dance with me."

I watch her drag Jordan unwillingly to his feet and out onto the dance floor, but not before he has time to shrug his wide shoulders at me, as if to say 'I told you not to ask'.

So he did.

Way to go Crosby. Really, that deserves a standing ovation. You just couldn't take no for an answer, couldn't believe...no wouldn't believe she didn't want you and that poor girl....

Reaching into my pocket I run my fingers over the box that I've been carrying around. That must be him inside. A soldier in Iraq, could I have possibly done anything worse?

With a sigh, I put the box in Patricia's purse on the chair next to mine and with one last look at it, I turn and head out the door and back to the hotel to be alone, just like I deserve to be.


	8. Chapter 8

_okay, it seemed to be good luck last time, a chapter the night before the game. Hope this and the magic burrito work! go Pens go_

C8

"Ready?" Tish drops into the overstuffed chair in my bedroom, draping her long legs decorously over the arm and immediately starts rifling through the magazines I've left stacked beside the chair. Considering I've been confined to my apartment for weeks, what with the chemo and the radiation pretty much destroying my immune system altogether, I've been doing a lot of reading lately. "Hockey News, Sports Illustrated, Inside Hockey, Sporting News, Faceoff…and _I'm_ the one dating a hockey player."

"Just about," I mumble, disregarding the accusation in her voice and continuing to tug on the scarf I've tied around my head, covering the unsightly bald spots. "And I thought you and Staalsy weren't using the 'd' word," I add glancing at the locket where it has been hanging from the corner of the mirror. I've long since forgiven Tish for the outrageous story she told Sidney, but I also haven't worn it since. Not that I blame her, but that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt just a little every time she tells me about her dates with his teammate.

Running my fingers over the locket, I lift the chain from its' resting place. I used to wear it for good luck. I decide I might need some of that today.

"Ugh! He totally introduced me as his girlfriend to a whole bunch of people at that dinner the other night," she sighs dramatically and rolls her eyes as if it's the worst thing in the world.

"So much for keeping it on the down low then I guess," I grin at her reflection in the mirror and she shrugs, as much as she can in her reclined pose.

"I know! We agreed to keep things casual and then the next thing you know, he's introducing me to Marc, but apparently that was no big deal but now we're going for dinner with Eric before the shit hits the fan between them and apparently that's the important brother to impress…wait, don't give me that look. Don't! It's not my fault. Well okay, it sort of is, but you told me not tell him," she cries indignantly, crossing her arms defensively in front of her chest and sticking out her bottom lip.

"I know I did, you don't have to keep reminding me Tish," I sigh, turning sideways to make sure the scarf is straight before we go. "Can you imagine me going out to dinner in some swanky restaurant with him with this going on?" I smile as I turn to face her, watching her expression change from pouting to crestfallen to repentant in a moment. "Don't Tish. Don't feel sorry for me. C'mon, it's my last treatment and then I get the MRI and then they'll tell me the tumour's all gone and my hair can grow back and then maybe, _if_ he's still single, I'll let you introduce us."

"And if it's not? If it's not gone?" she asks quietly, biting down on her bottom lip as her gaze searches mine.

"It has to be," I shrug, holding my chin high. "It just does. I sure as hell don't want to have gone through all this shit for nothing."

* * *

It was the last thing I wanted to do in the middle of the playoffs, especially now that we finally have the Caps firmly behind us, and yet here I am, trudging dutifully behind Fleur, putting on my best just for company smile for the kids. Normally I'd be sure to give the patients at Mercy my undivided attention, sitting with one or two of the worst cases, reading them a story or something, but today I can't focus. I have all this stuff going on in my head, and try as I might, I can't turn it off.

Like why is Staalsy suddenly sucking the place out? And is it only going to get worse facing his big brother? And why is my own timing suddenly so off on face offs? Suddenly I find myself missing Gary and Big George. They had the experience to get guys through this kind of quicksand. Right now I feel like all I can do is be the head cheerleader and even _that_ isn't working now.

Of course this line of thought isn't doing anything to lift my mood. It's hard enough to be around all these sick people without thinking about Ovie singing songs about how much I suck. I can't help but think if management thought this was some kind of humbling 'back to earth lesson', it's working better than they could have hoped.

Rounding a corner I almost bump into Cookie and Tanger backing out of a room, looking sheepish. I open my mouth to ask what horrors of medicine are going on inside but the argument emanating from the room silences me and everyone else in the hall.

"All of it Conn." It's a woman's voices and she sounds tired but determined, with an edge of irritated amusement in her voice. Looking over at Cookie, he pantomimes a pair of shears sliding over the top of his head and I nod. It is the cancer ward after all; this kind of thing is to be expected.

"Randi, you don't know what doing that will do when the rest of your hair grows back in." The man's voice is gruff but patient, as if he were talking to a child but obviously isn't.

"This is my hair, what's left of it, and my head," the woman sighs. "I don't even know why I haven't done it yet but if I'm going under the damn knife again, then it's coming off. Off Conn, shave it off."

Tanger makes an uncomfortable face and begins to tip toe towards the next room, but I'm not about to chicken out if the woman inside that room isn't going to. I can empathize with her position, if not exactly sympathize. I'd just been telling my mom that I wasn't going to cut my hair until we lost, never mind the play off beard, such as it is, no matter what I look like.

Not that it's the same, but she wouldn't be the first person I'd met in a cancer ward with the kind of guts and determination I admire. If she's brave enough to go bald, I can't help but think the least I can do was sign a jersey for her as I push the door all the way open, revealing the slender, pale back of a young woman, exposed even with one of those green hospital gowns tied behind the small of her back, barely covering the elaborate spider-web tattoo that dipps into the black lace panties I can see peeking out over the top of the sheet that hugs her hips like a sleeping cat wound around her.

My feet freeze, refusing to either to go forward or back, knowing full well that it's already too late. The man holding the clippers in his hand, the only part of his arm not covered in tattoos, has already seen me and is watching me now, waiting for me to announce my presence. Whether she heard me come in or saw me reflected in his eyes, she turns slowly, reaching for her black satin robe which lies discarded at her side. Her eyes became very wide and she quickly tugs her robe over her shoulders and around the thin hospital gown.

I thought, for a moment, that I should lie, for her sake, and act as though we'd never met but the look in her eyes has given us both away and now the thickly muscled man at her side, the one from the locket, is looking at both of us, eyes narrowed. Being a soldier I imagine that he's developed the ability to read and immediately assess body language and I feel certain that both of us look just as guilty as the other.

I want to walk away. The scene I was looking at is so...intimate, I knew I should turn and leave, except I'd never been able to apologize. Not _to_ her. Not unless she'd read the ad on craigslist and if she had and had chosen not to answer it, I had to assume now that she won't be happy to see me.

* * *

His hair is a little longer and he has this peach fuzz on his face that rims his chin and nearly covers his upper lip and though I don't think it's an improvement on his simmering good looks, the moustache does serve to emphasize his full, plump lips, darkening them so that it looks almost as if they've already been bitten, and I want to bite them; badly.

My heart's beating so hard I can't decide if it's that or his sudden appearance behind me that has me trying very hard to catch my breath. He's staring, and even as I came back to myself and realize that the scarf that had been covering my nearly bald head is lying in Tish's hands where she sits in the only chair in the small room, two feet from my hospital bed, it doesn't seem to me that he's seeing the bald spots, the tufts of hair that do nothing to cover most of my bare scalp. Neither does he seem to be seeing my lack of eyebrows, or the faint bluish tinge to my skin.

Despite everything, despite how ghastly my reflection may look to me in the mirror, he doesn't look horrified. He merely continues to look at me like...like he's expecting me to throw him out, to shriek at him and call security. He's nearly flinching, like he's ready to duck a low flying object, but is intent on standing his ground all the same.

It makes my chest hurt.

First of all, I didn't want him to see me like this. I _never_ wanted him to see me like this. Hell it's been difficult enough to have Tish and Con see me like this. To the doctors and nurses I'm just one more pale, half dead corpse on a gurney. I'm not worried about what they think. But Sidney...no I had _never, ever_ wanted _him_ to see me like this.

I don't know what to say and it's clear that words are failing him as well so I feel almost relieved when Tish gently pries the electric razor out of Con's hand and places her hand in his instead, passing the razor to me. I look up into her face and see a shadow of a smile dance across her features as she shares a brief glance with Sidney before tugging Conner out of the room behind her, even as he protests, his brotherly protective radar obviously going off as his gaze shifts from mine to Sidney's and back.

Waiting until I hear the soft click of the door closing behind them I finally let myself look up into his hazel eyes.

"So your boyfriend's back," he begins, his hand, almost hidden in his oversize jersey, motioning towards the door behind him.

"Boyfriend?" I bite down on my bottom lip to stop from laughing. I'd almost forgotten about Tish's tall tale. "That was my brother, Conner. He owns the club. I thought you two actually knew each other." I can't seem to keep the teasing tone out of my voice, nor can I stop myself from playing with the sash on my robe. The tips of his ears pink as he curses under his breath and I immediately feel badly for him. "Tish...she did what she thought was right," I begin to try and explain, putting the razor down on the bed and reaching for the scarf that Tish had left abandoned on the arm of the chair. "She was just trying to protect me," I add as I began tucking the wayward flyaway strands of what's left of my hair beneath it.

"So you're...sick?" My hands are trembling as I try to straighten the scarf without looking in a mirror, suddenly feeling altogether uneasy about the way he's looking at me. I feel like he should be looking at me like I've been seeing other men do on the street, like they shouldn't get too close, like they might catch whatever I have. Instead, though he's looking uncomfortable, he isn't looking like he wants to find the nearest exit.

"You could say that." I can't help but smile as I look up at him, how vulnerable he looks, and how shy. "I have cancer." I don't say breast cancer. I suddenly can't bear the thought of him thinking about _them_.

"Is it...bad?" he asks quietly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I mean, I know it's not good. What I mean is...what's your prognosis?" His gaze meets mine and I feel my heart flutter in my chest.

* * *

I can't take my eyes off of her, even though I can tell it makes her uneasy. I can tell she's self conscious; just by the way she goes for the scarf to cover her thinning hair. I keep thinking it should bother me, how her hair has fallen out, how she has no eyebrows. I should be making a hasty exit and counting my lucky stars that I never got involved with her.

But I don't.

I don't want to leave. In fact I have this strange urge to wrap my arms around her, to protect her, to tell her that while she might look a little like an alien, she's still a sexy alien. Like those green chicks on Star Trek that Max is always going on about.

I do feel like a bumbling idiot though when I ask her if it's bad. I mean of course it's bad. It's cancer. I should know better. Mario talks about it all the time, how it felt to have people thinking he was dying all the time. I know better but somehow I can't help myself from needing to hear her say she's going to be okay.

"I don't know. I mean, that's what I'm here for. They want to do another biopsy, hopefully to clear me," she sighs, curling her pale legs beneath her on the bed, her elegant fingers playing with a fold in the sheet near her knee, almost as if she wants to ask me to sit down. Or maybe that's just me, wanting to be near her.

"So…you might be better?" I ask, to which the corners of her lips curl up into a hint of a smile as she nods.

"Might, yeah. I mean, they say you're not cured, not unless you're clear for years but…yeah, hopefully I'm getting better." We're both smiling now, which seems better than the awkwardness of before but at least it's an improvement.

"So…this whole time…the whole time…I mean since I saw you that first time…," I shake my head, frustrated that I can't get the right words to come together to make a sentence. Fortunately she seems to know what I'm trying to say and glances up at me, her cheeks turning pink as she nods.

"I've been sick, the whole time, yeah. You have _no_ idea," she sighs, splaying her hand flat on the sheet in front of her, as if she can see something on it or through it. She stares at it for a minute and then she moves her hand over to the razor and turns it over in her hand.

She doesn't even need to ask. Or at least I feel like I know what she's going to ask before she looks up at me, her eyes enormous, like two green pools on a pale moon. Taking the razor from her hand, I feel her fingers shake, but then I realize, no. It's me that's shaking as her head dips and she tugs the scarf from her head.

My fingers are trembling so hard I can't turn the razor on. I can't make the switch work. It's only her hand, reaching up to steady mine, that finally releases that familiar buzzing sound as I tip the razor towards her scalp. She looks up at me once more, trust oozing out of those emerald eyes, before she once again tips her head forward, showing me the nape of her neck, literally submitting.

"I'm sorry," I whisper as I touch the blade gently to her head and the first wisps of hair fall into her hands.

"I'm not," she replies, and I wonder if we're talking about the same thing. Certainly I'm sorry she's losing her hair, but it's her choice and I can tell just by how still she is that she's come to terms with this loss already. Still, I've wanted to apologize for so long....

"I've never...I mean, I don't know what came over me," I begin again, only to hear the light pealing sound of her laughing, to see her shoulders bob as she gives into the giggling. I'm still trying to decide how to take that when she lets the hair that's already fallen into her hands fall onto the bed and reaches out to grab a handful of my jersey.

With the razor still running I find myself looking down at her, at her mercy, to be pulled down to my knees, to choke, or to kiss the sweet pink lips she offers me.

* * *

It's the definition of short and sweet, like a maraschino cherry, and nothing at all like the passionate, bruising kisses in the bathroom at the club which was more like drinking straight from a chocolate fountain. I like both.

He looks down at me, hazel eyes showing his bewilderment. Nipping at his bottom lip, like I've wanted to since he walked in the room, I tip my head back down to let him continue the task I've set him.

"They tell you that you'll lose your libido," I explain when he, at last, puts the razor to my head again. "I don't know what they're talking about. Ever since you walked into the club that night I've been feeling..," let's see now, how to tell him this without swelling his head? "Let's just say, I haven't exactly lost my appetite." I can't help but glance sideways, towards the hem of his jersey, wishing very much it wasn't hiding what Tish and I like to call 'the package'. Still, I'm almost sure, just by the way he nearly scalps me that he fully understands my meaning. "So please don't apologize, unless it's for leaving so...quickly," I add, biting back the 'unsatisfied' part. Closing my eyes, I bite down on the inside of my cheek. I cannot believe that I'm saying this to him. I can't believe that he's shaving my head and I can't believe that I look like something off the set of Battalstar Galactica and he isn't running away screaming.

"But...you didn't...I mean I tried to get in touch and you didn't...," he sighs heavily as the last of wispy locks falls away and shuts off the razor, but not before his other hand sweeps tenderly over my freshly grazed skull. "Even through Jordan you could have said _something_."

"But I look like this," I reply quietly, turning my face up, my gaze meeting his, and still, he only looks down at me like Mary looks at her son in Michelangelo's La Pietà, acceptance and something so tender I refuse to give it a name, afraid that if I do, I'll be wrong.

"Beautiful," he whispers, reaching out to lay his hand against my cheek. I feel the tears overflow; taking with them any of the words of argument I may have had as I lean into his hand, revelling in the warmth, in the life that ebbs from his skin.

"Time to go Miranda." The fog horn of the nurse's voice makes me flinch, but not before Sidney jumps back, looking flustered and guilty at the same time. She looks disapprovingly at the hair on the bed and on the floor and then turns her censorious gaze on Sidney who is still holding the razor in his other hand. "Well we can't take this bed now," she growls, shaking her head at me and stomping out of the room. I can hear the tell tale rattle of an approaching wheelchair and cringe. Bad enough that I have one of those mint green paper hospital gowns on under my robe, but to have him see me in one of those contraptions?

"Gotta go," I grin at him, carefully climbing off of my perch on the hospital bed and leaning in to press a quick fraternal kiss on his cheek. It's so at odds with the moment we just shared that it makes me wince but I do it anyway and disappear out into the hall to find the nurse before he comes after me, telling myself as I shiver at the feeling of the cold tiles beneath my feet that it's better this way. It was nice, but it would never work. Especially if things go wrong, if I get bad news, how could I face him then?


	9. Chapter 9

_phew! They won! Don't know about you but I've been grinning for days. So lovely to watch all the boys be happy, and screw the Wings! They are such sore losers. Wow, I thought they had more class. Anyway, this is a long one, took a while to write and I was up until midnight last night finishing the chapter so I hope you like it. And thanks again for all the emails, it's so good to hear that you're reading, good or bad_

C9

"What's it like?" I can hear the big body pause somewhere behind me, likely as his hand hovers above the half empty bottle of his best whisky, followed by the slight squeak of his shoes as turns to see my dark head poking up above the chair in front of the empty fireplace.

"Pardon?" Mario's voice sounds surprised as he stands behind me, and no wonder. This isn't my usual spot to rest before a big game.

"Having cancer? What was it like? I mean...were you scared? Did it hurt?" I can still feel it, the heaviness in my chest as I think about her, her pale, nearly translucent skin, the feel of her smooth skull beneath my fingertips. Glancing over, I watch my sometime father sometime mentor settle down in the big leather wing back chair next to mine from which he stares into the cold, dark fireplace.

"Scared, oui, all the time," Mario replies slowly, his blue eyes taking on a far away look, as if he's seeing that young man again, the young man he'd been when he'd been going through the treatments, the radiation. "Mostly that I'd never play again," he adds with a half smile as he turns to meet my questioning gaze. "Why do you ask? Is there something I should know?" he asks quietly, his curiosity quickly replaced by concern as his gaze sweeps over me like he's looking for something, expecting to see something and hoping that he won't.

"There's this girl," I begin, not knowing where to start, how to explain what I'm feeling. "She's going through the treatment, the radiation, chemo…," my voice trails away to nothing as her face fills my mind, her emerald eyes that remind me of the grassy hills of home. "I don't know how to explain it, but… I think I might be falling in love with her," I add in almost a whisper. My heart skips a beat as I say the words I've been thinking but haven't dared admit are true. Still, when I say them, I feel my heart swell because I know it's true.

I realize that Mario hasn't said a word, the silence in the room growing like the shadows of the day climbing the walls and filling the room like a heavy cloud, but when I look over at him, there is none of the disapproval I was expecting. Instead, the laugh lines around his icy blue eyes have deepened and though I can see he's trying to hide it behind his big hand, it's plain as day that he's grinning, almost laughing.

"Je suis désolé," he sighs, as if it's the only thing he can do to stop from laughing out loud. "It's just…only you Sidney. Here we're always preaching to you that you should develop some balance, other interests outside hockey…only _you_ would complicate that." Shaking his head he reaches for the half empty bottle and offers to refill mine but I cover my glass, shaking my head. "I'm sorry Sidney, I'm not making light of it, veuillez me pardoner. You have a big heart, mon fils, I suppose this should not be a surprise."

Put that way, I can see why he's trying so hard not to laugh. Even as he pours himself a glass, he continues to shake his head and I can see his nostrils flare as he fights to stop himself from laughing out loud. Watching the corner of his mouth tremble as he fights to control his expression makes it hard for me not to smile. After all, he _is_ right. Only _I_ would complicate something simple like having a girlfriend.

"So, how ill is she, this girl of yours?" Mario asks, the laughter gone from his eyes as he leans back in the chair and sips the dark amber liquid.

"I don't know, exactly," I reply honestly, shrugging as Mario turns his now serious gaze on me. "I think she's getting better. I mean, she's out of chemo now and they were taking for her an MRI when we left. That's good right?" I watch the big man as he nods thoughtfully, the light from the table lamp beside him catching the silver in his hair and well trimmed play off beard.

"Well everything else seems to be going well au moment," Mario muses, turning his sky blue eyes on me, those laugh lines of his deepening again. "I guess we can be hopeful that your luck will pass on to her hmm?"

"Yeah, I guess," I find myself smiling back at him. Now that I've finally found her again, and the Caps are finally behind us, it does seem like things are finally going well.

"Now, I wanted to talk to you about Eric Staal...," he begins, an amused lilt to his voice.

"Ugh, can't Jordy deal with him? He plays _huge_," I sigh, my mind already turning to the game. There will be time to think about her later, after the game.

* * *

"I don't understand," I sit on the edge of the hospital bed, my bags packed, staring at my doctor as she studies the clip board in front of her as if whatever information is on it is so engrossing that she can't look up at me. Or maybe she just doesn't dare. "You said we caught this early. You said if we did the aggressive treatment that everything would be fine. I've been puking out my guts for weeks Catherine. What do you mean the tumour's not gone?" I feel Tish's fingers curling around my hand but I don't dare look back at her. I know if I do I won't be able to hold it together. As it is, I think it's only the shock that's holding the tears at bay.

Because this isn't what I'd pictured in my head. This wasn't what I was supposed to be hearing right now. I know you're supposed to prepare yourself for the worst but I haven't. This just is so not what I was certain was going to be the news I was going to hear.

"I did say that we'd have a good chance at shrinking it significantly, but every case is different and sometimes we need to approach things differently mid stream. So we're going to look at some different treatments, starting with Tamoxifan...."

"Wait. Isn't that the one you _didn't_ want me to go on? Isn't that the one that raises my risk for like..._every_ other cancer?" I hear the panic in my voice and feel Tish's hand squeeze mine in response, reminding me to be calm, to be brave, but how can I be either when I'm being told that not only have I gone through all the nights of being sick, losing my hair, spending hours making very good, personal friends with my toilet, only to be told that the cancer isn't gone and now the treatment is going to get worse and the side effects even _more_ awful?

"Randi, just listen," Tish pleads from behind me, her voice low and controlled, unlike mine which is getting shriller by the minute.

"Well is it?" I ask, or rather demand, fear making my chest tight, my pulse rapid and my eyes too wide.

"It is," Catherine admits slowly, tapping her pen against something on the clip board, maybe like she's knocking on wood, or in this case plastic. Or maybe just like I've already done, she's printed out the long list of things that can go wrong with this treatment. "But it has a lot of upside as well Miranda and I really think that if we can get a handle on the spread...."

"Spread? You mean it's not only still there, it's _spread_?" Tish's hand grips mine tightly enough that it's almost like she's trying to cut off the circulation to my fingers but I know she's just trying to remind me to stay in control, to listen, to give Catherine a chance to explain, but now the panic has really begun to set in and I can't help but imagine the results of a double mastectomy, and that alone leaves me shaking and barely able to breathe.

"We talked about this Miranda. There isn't just one kind of breast cancer, unfortunately. I wish it was that easy. The problem is now it's in your lymphatic system and…." Holding up my hand I close my eyes, concentrating on taking slow even breaths before I pass out.

"It was a small lump. _Tiny_ you said. I let you hack a hole in my boob and now you're telling me it's spread? Will someone please tell me what the fuck is _actually_ happening here, am I dying or what?"

"Randi!" Tish hisses from behind me. I know I'm being abrasive and probably unreasonable on top of it, but even Tish can't quiet the rising storm of panic threatening to cut off my air and make my heart beat right out of my chest.

"No, you knew my family history. You knew what happened to my mom." My throat finally closes around the huge ball of emotion and chokes off my voice as the vision of my mother's wasted body lying in a hospital bed just like this one fills my mind. Shaking my head to rid myself of the ghostly visitation, I turn my eyes to Catherine."Okay, okay…do whatever you have to do…just…I need to know...please. How long?" I admit, it's not exactly my bravest moment, but under the circumstances, it's the best I can do.

"We're not there yet Randi," she says calmly, using her best 'don't scare the patient' voice. "We're not giving up and neither are you, okay?" She smiles at me, but the emotion doesn't fill her eyes. Her eyes tell me the truth and I feel my heart stop in my chest.

Tish unwinds her fingers from around my hand and reaches up to dig her fingers into the nape of neck, trying to massage the tension away but I shake her hand off. No one has ever been able to do successfully do that for me and under the circumstances, it's just stupid to even try.

With a sigh she climbs off of the bed, and I listen while she ushers the doctor out of the room. I hear the soft click of the door as it closes, shutting out the sounds of the nurses and patients chatting in the halls, the alarms going off, the rattle of gurneys and wheel chairs moving around; sounds of life going on around me, without me.

Life, something I know I've take for granted every morning of every day that I've got up out of my own bed, living, breathing, going on with my day without thinking of the miracle of what makes my body live and breathe. Now all I can think of is all of the little cells in my body attacking me from within, all those nasty little cancer cells multiplying and savaging my healthy cells, killing me by inches.

And I'd been so looking forward to some good news, hoping that I could get my life back, be normal, be _myself_ again. Most of all I was hoping not to feel like such a god damn freak the next time I met Sidney.

Closing my eyes and clenching my teeth I try to stem the tide of tears. Maybe it's childish. No, I _know_ it's childish, but I can't help it. Hiding my face in my pillow I let myself say it out loud.

"It's not fair. Not fair. _Not fair_!"

* * *

"You can't do this now. You can't date someone going through cancer treatment. Not during the playoffs," Max admonished me, to which my only reply is a shrug. I really didn't expect him to understand. "I suppose you're going to try and tell me it's love, which we all know it isn't."

"To be fair," Jordy replies without so much as looking up from tying his skates, "when you just want to fuck someone you say things like she's hot or she's got a nice rack. You don't wax poetic for days and post an add on craigslist." Smiling to myself, I silently agree. Not that I haven't wanted to do unmentionable things to her from the first moment I saw her, but I've also felt...protective and desperate to be near her. Two home truths I'm not ready to admit to Max considering I'm barely able to admit them to myself.

"So tell me, because I'm curious," Max laughs, pacing in front of me, his hairy, stocky legs in my direct line of vision as I bend to tie my own skates, "just what is so amazing about this girl? Because it's not like we haven't all offered our sisters, ex girlfriends, cousins...need I go on?" Glancing up at him, it's all I can do not to roll my eyes at him. Yes, everyone does seem to feel the need to offer me their sisters, daughters, cousins. Like a guy can't be single. Like there's something wrong with that. The fact that everyone in this room seems to be hooked up might suggest that being the odd man out would have its' down side, and it does, but I don't know how to explain what it is about her that makes me want to fight for her.

"I don't need to justify myself to you Max," I sigh, turning my attention back to my skates. I might feel like I have to explain this to Mario, yes, and of course to myself, and maybe even to Jordy and Fleur, but not Max. It's not that I don't count him as my friend, because I do. I know he always has my back, and even now, I know he thinks that he's just telling me like it is. It's just that, when it comes to girls, to women, we just don't see things the same way.

"Leave the poor kid alone," Billy Guerin, my new line mate, strides over and physically moves Max aside. "Shit you guys. You bug the crap out of him for acting like a monk and the minute he's interested in someone you're all over him. Make up your fucking minds." I give him a grateful smile, and he returns it with a lop-sided gap toothed grin of his own.

"But things are going good, why do you want to fuck with that by hanging around hospitals and sick people?" Max whines, directing his negative energy directly at me despite the physical wall of Billy's much bigger body standing between us.

"She makes him happy," Jordy answers for me, his full mouth upturned in a smile even as he continues to tug on the laces of his skates. "A happy Creature is good Max. You know that."

Glancing up at Max through my wet hair, I watch him open his mouth to argue, but quickly close it again, knowing full well that there's just two ways to make me play harder. Piss me off, or make me happy and Jordy's right. Even though I'm worried about her and even though I am worried about what seeing her means for me, for better or worse, she _does_ make me happy.

"Well, we'll see," Max says flippantly, over his shoulder as he heads out onto the ice. I look over at Jordy, who's shaking his head at Max's retreating back.

"I guess we will huh?" I sigh, sitting back against the wall, breathing away the tension that's built up in my muscles.

"Don't worry about him," Jordy grins, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring into the corridor that's now crowded with our teammates. "He's just worried you won't go trolling with him."

"Yeah well...maybe I _will_ be too busy. I mean, I hope so," I grin over at him and he nods, laughing.

"Yeah, maybe there's a double date in our future huh?"

* * *

"For me, Randi please," Conner looks down at me with that 'I dare you to tell me no' fraternal look on his face.

"Don't use that guilt shit on me Con," I grumble, rolling over onto my side and pretending to be engrossed in the tiny television set hanging from the ceiling. Truth be told, I haven't been able to read or watch an entire show without getting lost in my own thoughts, most of which aren't good.

"Randi...our fucking mother died because she was too vain to go through the treatment...."

"And you didn't want to shave my head. Who's vain now?" I snap without turning to look at him, knowing just by the sound of his voice that at least he's stopped the big brother routine and is now working the guilt thing full time.

"I just can't believe you'd give up," he sighs, a heavy, dramatic sounding sigh that makes me roll my eyes. The cajoling big brother tough guy routine was definitely more his style.

"You obviously haven't read the side effects of this stuff Con. It's die of this or cervical cancer or something else. It might stop this but it raises my chance of everything else so...I haven't said no I just...I want some time to think about this. I mean it's my body Con, I think I'm allowed to decide for myself," I growl, flicking through the channels, rapid fire. It seems like nothing can hold my attention now. Not even a fight with my brother and Conner _is_ looking for a fight. I'm just not willing to give him one.

"What about a mastectomy?" Izzy asks quietly from the foot of the bed where, to her credit, she's mostly been trying to keep out of the way and keep her opinions to herself. No wonder I've always liked her. Putting the remote down, I close my eyes and lean back in the bed, reaching up to massage the throbbing at my temples which just won't seem to go away today.

"Catherine thinks that because it's into my lymph nodes that we're past that but...I mean, obviously I would...no matter how much the entire idea sucks and I didn't want to have to go that extreme. But I mean, hey, at least then I could pick my bras size am I right?" I smile down at her, realizing that I'm trying to comfort her when really they should be comforting me. I shouldn't have to be putting on a happy, for company face but that's exactly what it seems like I've been doing all day. From Tish, who couldn't seem to stop crying to the other girls from work, and now my baby brother...he's the worst of all because he's doing his best to be the big tough boy and I know damn well what he's feeling because every moment I've had to myself I've been balling my eyes out.

It's a good thing I already look like death not so warmed up.

"We'll get a second opinion, take you to another hospital," Conner offers, sliding from the bed onto his feet, pacing the floor. I can't watch him. It makes me tired just knowing he's doing it.

"You know the insurance won't cover that Con," I sigh, hating like hell that the HMO's make you fight with them over every little thing, every change of medicine and every test, no matter how many doctors say it's necessary.

"That's crap. We pay a _fucking fortune_ for that fucking insurance," Con snaps, running his hand through his dark hair as he drops back down to the bed. "I'll get a loan against the bar...," he begins, but I reach out and grab his hand in both of mine.

"Don't you _dare_," I hiss, capturing his gaze and holding it so he'll see just how deadly serious I am about this. "Daddy would roll over in his grave. He worked so hard so you'd have it free and clear. Don't you dare mortgage your future, not now, not with the way things are," I insist, squeezing his hand as hard as I can, which, considering what a long day it's been already and how tired I am, is not nearly hard enough to make him take much notice, big as he is.

"I'm not just going to watch you…do _this_," Conner snarls back at me, his green eyes sparkling with unshed tears. My mother's eyes, the one physical trait we share.

"If you think I'm going down without a fight bro', you are _**so**_ mistaken," I whisper, smiling encouragingly up at him, giving his hand another squeeze, ignoring the way his chunky rings dig into my fingers.

"Good to hear."

We all look in the direction of the voice that's interrupted our familial argument and I find myself smiling the first honest to god smile of the day in the direction of the owner of a pair of hazel eyes and full, soft pink lips. I feel Conner bristle beside me, his hold on my hand tightening as his body stiffens, the protective brother, ready to battle over his sister's non existent chastity.

Luckily for me, it only takes Izzy a quick glance from me to the door before she decides to pull my hulk of a brother out of the room, muttering promises to be back in the morning with the things on the shopping list I'd given her earlier.

Sidney watches them go, nodding a polite hello to both before taking another step inside the room.

"I don't bite, much," I promise, feeling suddenly a whole lot better than I have all day. His grin widens, and his eyes sparkle, even under the brim of the baseball hat that's pulled low over his forehead, hiding most of the unruly waves of his dark hair.

"Randi right?" He appears both doubtful and shy as he looks over at me and I can't help feeling that he's even more adorable as less than confident. It makes me want to reach out and grab his cheeks and kiss him right on the nose, like you would a brand new puppy with a big red bow around its' neck. I don't of course. I stay where I am, in my sick bed, and nod and smile. "I wasn't sure you'd still be here," he begins, gesturing awkwardly towards my bed with one hand before it quickly disappears into his jacket pocket again.

"Yep, still here. Can you believe that? I entertain the nurses so much they just won't let me go," I shrug, turning the television off at long last and pushing the small set away from the bed, inching over on the thin mattress to make room for him to sit, which he doesn't, but at least he takes another awkward step into the room. "So is it Sidney or Sid? Which do you prefer?" Even when he shrugs, and looks over at me with that big toothy grin of his, I have to sit on my hands to stop from clapping and bouncing on the bed and calling all the nurses in to look at the cute little bundle of joy.

"Either...I mean...I get called a lot worse by my friends and the guys on the team so...whichever. I'll answer to pretty much anything," he says with another shrug as he finally reaches the foot of the bed, glancing down at my chart which is hanging on it's press board or plastic clip board, with all the charts and graphs and numbers sketched all over it. "So you're still here is that...a bad thing?"

When he looks up at me again, I feel my chest tighten, like someone's squeezing me into a vice, or like I'm stuck between two elevator doors, being slowly squished to death. It seems like the wrong thing to do, to lie to him, but I can't bear to tell him the truth either.

"Oh you know how they are, the longer they can keep you, the more they can charge the insurance company or something like that," I lie, putting my big fake smile back on, the one that makes my cheeks ache. His caramel coloured eyes narrow and I know that I'm not even coming close to being convincing. "Well, technically I don't have anyone to look after me if I go home and I've been having some pretty bad reactions to some of the stuff I'm on so...you know, they want to keep any eye on me so...here I am." It's as close to the truth as I can come without the lie showing in my eyes, and fortunately it seems to placate him. He nods and comes a few steps closer, finally sitting on the edge of bed, not near enough to touch but near enough that a trace of his scent reaches me, the faint musky scent of sweat and good clean ivory soap mixed with musty old towels and sweat socks, very male.

"So we have another game tomorrow," he begins, having found the frayed edge of one of the crisp white hospital sheets to pick at. "I was wondering if you'd come?" When he turns those gold flecked eyes on me, I feel my heart stop beating altogether, and not in the 'o my god something horrible has happened' kind of a way that it has been doing all day, but in the way 'I don't belong to you anymore' sort of a way. Like he could reach right into my chest and take it out and I wouldn't even miss it.

"Can't," I sigh when my voice finally allows me to answer without croaking like a bullfrog. He nods and turns his face from mine, as if he was expecting this answer and I see the same look of frustrated resignation on his face as he used to get when I wouldn't dance with him back at the bar. "It's my immune system," I explain quickly, tugging off the knit cap I've been wearing, which draws his attention immediately back to me, the shock of seeing my bald head again registering in his eyes before he can erase it. I ignore it, neither feeling the need to let him know it's okay to freak out that I'm bald nor to remind him that he did the deed. I know the feeling. Every time I look in the mirror I feel the same. "I don't think hanging out in a big crowded arena is such a good idea," I add, giving his knee a friendly little shove with my foot and grinning at him. Rolling his eyes, he nods, and I can't decide which is cuter -the fact that he doesn't seem to think of me as sick enough to have thought of that in the first place, or the way his ears go a bright pink as he realizes his faux pas.

"I don't know how I'm ever going to apologize, properly if I can't even give you tickets or uh...," he looks up at me again from beneath his long dark lashes and through the dark curls that fall onto his forehead as his cheeks begin to turn an even darker shade of crimson than his ears.

Unable to resist, I lean forward and capture his lips with mine, cradling his cheeks in my hands as I kiss him softly, not once, but twice before withdrawing back to my part of the bed.

"Don't apologize for that anymore," I warn him, letting one hand drop down to cover his on the bed while the other remains on his cheek as I decide if I want to kiss him again, or if, just maybe, he'll kiss me. "Cuz uh...then I'll have to apologize for these thoughts that have been going through my head and just between you and me," I add, leaning closer to him and lowering my voice to a husky whisper, "they've pretty much been keeping me going the last few weeks and besides," I add, my lips nearly touching his, "it's way, _way_ sexier when you do that take charge thing."

Raising his hand to cover mine, he places his lips squarely against mine and I feel my entire body blaze with heat that's no fever, or at least none caused by the traitorous cells in my body or the meds fighting them. It's him, and his soft, plush lips and the press of the width of his chest against mine. Closing my eyes, I wish for a sandy beach or a king size overstuffed mattress in a four star hotel, but I can conjure neither and when my eyes open, I find one of the RN's looking down at us, frowning.

"Visiting hours are up," she smiles, as if it amuses her greatly to break up our passionate embrace. Cold hearted bitch. I bet she loves to give enemas and spinal taps too.

"I'll um...come see you after the game?" he smiles, pressing his lips briefly and softly to the top of my head. Nodding, I hold onto his hand for a moment longer than is strictly necessary.

"They've promised to let me watch the game on the big screen in the lounge so...hopefully they won't toss me out for yelling and cursing," I add with a smile.

"You're supposed to be resting," the nurse sighs, dragging the crisp white sheet up over my knees and giving Sidney one of those dismissive glares that they're all so good at. "You won't be doing any yelling or I'll lock you in the on call room."

"Do me a favour," I grin back up at her as Sidney pauses in the doorway. "Do that after he comes to visit?"


	10. Chapter 10

_Thank you as always for all the comments good and bad. I read them all and I do listen. I may not change what I'm doing, but I do listen. So thank you for reading and I hope you like this one._

C10

"Home sweet home," Tish smiles, pushing the door open to my apartment before turning back to where she left me leaning against the wall, trying to catch my breath. I really don't ever remember those stairs being such a trial before. As much as I hate to, I accept her outstretched hands and her help into the apartment, making it as far as the couch before I collapse in a heap, grateful for the soft landing provided by all throw pillows piled on it, which I don't remember being there before. Perhaps that's why I don't immediately notice the subtle changes to the rest of my decor.

"Tish...," I gaze around the room, noticing a bookshelf moved, a chair missing, and that's just the big stuff, "what have you been doing?"

"It's not just me," she muses, looking around the room with this dreamy look on her face, like she's seeing shapes and colour on my walls that I am _so_ not going to enjoy. "Ever since they said you could go home, Izzy's been stocking up your freezer with tempting goodies so you won't have to cook."

"That I expected," I reply, looking up at her bemused expression, "it's the missing furniture I'm talking about."

"Oh that," she shrugs, smiling down at me as if that should be answer enough.

"Yes _that_." Shaking my head at her, I peer around the room, looking for clues as to what she's up to.

"Well it _was_ a bit cluttered Randi," she says matter-of-factly as she puts her hands on her hips and gazes around, surveying her handiwork, "and not very...chic," she adds with a pleased grin. Shuddering, I begin to have visions of shopping for grad dresses running through my head.

"Tish, I liked that chair," I glance towards the strangely empty space in front of the entertainment centre where there's now one of those woven Persian rugs on the floor and more fancy throw pillows carefully placed in a suggestion of a conversation area, very Ty Pennington and so not me. "Tish, where's my favourite chair? If Con took it I'll...."

"Chill out babes, it's in your bedroom. I just wanted to make a nice little..._romantic_ area for you," she sighs, tip toeing over to the rug and running her hands along the ledges of the entertainment centre, which I realize only as she's standing there, has been filled with all sizes and shapes of candles which I know were never there before. I can't be trusted with open flames.

"I _knew_ you were up to something when you were late to pick me up," I mutter, pushing myself up and having to close my eyes as all the blood rushes back into my legs. Holding my arms out for balance, I wait for the dizziness to pass before making my way over to inspect her embellishments, turning my nose up at the girly fragrances coming from the candles, the bowl of patchouli and the suggestively placed bottles of massage oils. "You obviously have a much higher opinion of my energy levels than I do," I mumble, seeing spots dance before my eyes as I bend to inspect the stack of Enya and Clannad cds. "Ambient music? Is there something you know and I don't?" I ask, turning to find her still with this almost vapidly angelic look on her face. Oh yeah, she's definitely up to something.

"Well I _do_ know, or rather, Jordy tells me that after they win tonight, which they will, a certain Mr. Crosby has already put aside a very expensive bottle of cabernet which he _borrowed_ from Mario's wine cellar and Izzy has put a chicken cacciatore in the slow cooker and I've provided Jordy the directions to this den of sin," she adds, her grin growing wider by the moment.

"Oh Tish," I sigh, feeling that pounding in my head that has refused to go away in the last few days begin to grow rapidly worse, "it's a very nice idea but I am so fucking tired," I begin, already knowing by the look on her face that I am not winning this argument.

"Again, we are talking about Sidney god damn Crosby Randi. I mean, hello? I don't care if you're on death's door. He wants to sweep you off your feet and I am not letting you miss out on this." Grabbing me by my shoulders, she stares down at my yellow duck pj bottoms and shakes her head. "But not in those."

"Tish...," I moan, feeling the deep ache in my bones and my bed calling my name and knowing full well that there is not a chance in hell I can talk my way out of this.

"Come on, there must be something decent in your closet."

Watching her disappear down the hallway towards my bedroom, I feel my shoulders sag in defeat. It's not that I don't like him. I do. No, that's not true. I _really_ like him but I am so, _so_ tired and yet I know that she's right. If I don't do this, when I get better I will hate myself for turning him away and not having this opportunity. Besides, is it my fault he finds deathly ill pale chicks with no hair sexy?

* * *

I almost turn around and go back to my car. I get half way down the hallway and stop, the urge to call this whole thing off doing battle with the overwhelming urge to see her again, to celebrate our win with her. Telling myself that I've already taken the wine, put on the cologne and a suit, which I never do for a date, I force my feet to continue forward, towards the number on the door that's written in Jordy's almost illegible scrawl on the Carolina hotel note paper. I've been thinking of the sweet taste of her lips for too much of the last couple of days not to see her, and we only have a few days off before we face Hoss and the dreaded Wings again. The coach said to rest but...I just know if I don't see her that will be even more of a distraction.

Or maybe all of those things are just excuses I realize as my hand shakes when I lift it to knock on the door. Maybe the thought of being with her again, alone, has my mind racing ahead to places that leave my mouth dry and my heart hammering in my chest. My anxious state doesn't improve when she opens the door either.

She looks...amazing, just like she did the first moment I saw her. This time she's wearing a black cocktail dress with a long straight dark brown wig that hangs down and brushes her shoulders. I feel my palms begin to sweat as she looks up at me, her big green eyes ringed with hollow shadows but still full of...what? Excitement? No, that's not right. More like anticipation and maybe a little trepidation, which makes me feel instantaneously better. I open my mouth to speak but already she's offering her sweet lips up to mine and I take the kiss as offered, soft and warm like melted butter, and all at once, every care, every worry is gone.

"Hi again," she whispers against my lips before she steps aside, allowing me entrance into her home, a darkened room full of soft, wavering candle light and invitingly yielding looking cushions. I feel my breathing between to quicken all at once as she turns and lifts two empty glasses from a nearby table and smiles up at me, a cork screw in her other hand. "A little bird told me you were bringing wine, which I'm not really supposed to have with all my meds but...I figure a little can't hurt?" I curse myself for being so thoughtless but reach for the cork screw that's offered. Shaking her head, she reaches for the bottle instead, managing to take it in just three fingers and then stares up at me expectantly. "Take off your coat? Stay awhile?" She laughs and I momentarily don't feel so bad for being clueless and awkward as I struggle out of my jacket, turning to hang it on a coat rack beside the door before following her into the small galley kitchen where she offers the bottle and cork screw again, placing the wine glasses down on the counter beside me before sliding up onto the opposite counter from which perch she watches me struggle with the cork until I manage to tug it free with a resounding popping sound.

Pouring the wine I turn back to her, offering her a glass which she takes carefully in her hand, cupping the bell of the glass in her palm and holding it up, breathing in the rich aroma with her eyes closed.

"It's good stuff. Mario had a few bottle put away. I really liked it the last time we had it so I kept the empty bottle so I'd remember," I explain to which she nods and grins.

"I'd almost forgotten how good it smells," she explains, taking a tentative sip before closing her eyes again and making a low humming noise, her full, red lips turning up in a contented smile. "Oh, you're right. This is _soooo_ good," she grins over at me. "Nice choice."

"Thanks," I take my own sip, letting the red liquid swish around inside my mouth until the slight hints of cherry and chocolate hit my palate. "I guess this kind of celebratory drink."

"I know, nicely done by the way," she smiles, tipping her glass towards me, "taking care of Carolina in four. I bet you didn't see that coming."

"Yeah, that was good, but I...umm...I meant you coming home. I mean, that's a really good sign right?" I look up at her hopefully while she takes another sip of the wine, unable to stop myself from staring at her full, tempting lips, over which her pink tongue sweeps, delicately saving that tiniest drop of wine and sending a shudder down my spine at the same time.

"Oh well, it's quieter anyways," she grins, shrugging as she puts the glass down beside her on the counter and swings her legs, like a little kid on a swing, the heels of her bare feet drumming against the cupboard. "So, hungry?" she asks, her fingers curling around the edge of the counter as she pushes off and slides down onto the floor, reaching towards me. Grabbing her around the waist, I pull her to me, covering her lips with mine as she looks up at me eyes wide. "I was reaching for the crock pot," she whispers against my cheek, her fingers combing through my hair, "but uh...this is good too," she adds with a soft chuckle, her other arm snaking around my neck, pulling my lips back down to hers'.

"I couldn't stop thinking about you," I explain breathlessly, my body vibrating like a tuning fork with her proximity. "The whole time we were in Carolina, I kept thinking about you. Wondering...wondering if...." The words stick in my throat. How can I ask if she's been thinking about me, if she's been thinking about this moment, about what it would be like to be alone, just the two of us? As if she can read my thoughts, she runs her fingertips down my cheek, over my shoulder and down my arm, peeling my fingers from around my glass. Carefully putting it on the counter, she lifts my hand and places a soft kiss on my palm and then licks her way up to my fingertips before sliding my index finger between her warm, soft, red lips and curling her tongue suggestively around it until my knees nearly buckle and I have to close my eyes and take a deep steadying breath. "But…but you hardly…we hardly…even after what I did…."

Smiling, she lets my finger go and offers her lips up to mine instead. I admit her lips still taste of cotton candy and it's nearly impossible for me to do because my body wants very much to ignore my brain as her lips open beneath mine, her tongue twisting and dancing around mine. But I manage to at least extricate myself enough to hold her away from me far enough that I can breathe but she only looks up at me with those big green eyes of hers' and grins.

"You don't do this out on the ice. You don't look like you second guess yourself out there. It's kind of cute," she whispers, laughter flashing from her eyes as her hands slide down the small of my back and come to rest on my ass, making my breath catch in my throat as her hips come into contact with mine.

"It's not…_fuck!_…I just don't want you to think I just came here for…to…_you know_," I growl, unable to meet her playful gaze and feeling a different kind of heat suffuse my face as she giggles at my expense. I'm almost twenty-two years old and I can't even say the word sex in front of a woman.

I feel her fingertips brush my cheek, but I won't look at her, I can't. But then she lays the palm of her hand against my cheek and her teeth dig into the flesh below my chin and I have to look down at her.

Her eyes are still dancing with that barely suppressed laughter and her full red lips are still curled up into a smile but I don't get the feeling that either is at my expense, directly.

"I'm attracted to you Sidney," she says simply, her gaze wandering from my eyes down to my lips and back again, as if to say she likes what she sees, "and for some reason I really don't understand, you seem to be attracted to me," she continues, to which I open my mouth to object, to tell her how beautiful she is and how good she smells and tastes but she only presses her lips to mine and silences me. "Life's too short," she whispers against my lips, "and I really don't have time for games," she adds, her soft lips brushing against my cheek all the way to my ear where her teeth leave a painfully sweet impression. "So if you want me like I've been wanting you since the last time you lit my fire, you'd better take advantage of me while you can."

* * *

It seems he needs no more invitation than that as he literally lifts me off of my feet and slides me onto the opposite counter from where I'd been perched previously, his hands resting on my hips as he muscles his way between my thighs as he captures my lips eagerly between his. Lacing my fingers through his dark waves I kiss him back, just as eagerly, ignoring the momentary dizziness and the shortness of breath it causes or at least convincing myself that they're both side effects of the heat emanating from his body and nothing at all to do with being ill.

I say a silent prayer of thanks that the meds I'm currently on have cleared up the sores on my mouth and that, despite my shopping list of symptoms, there are none that are currently embarrassingly obvious to the naked eye at the moment as his hands slide up beneath the hem of my dress, the touch of his cool fingertips bringing rise to a significant case of gooseflesh. Closing my eyes I give in to the shiver the press of his lips against the pulse in my throat produces. Feeling my temperature rising quickly, I glance longingly at my abandoned glass of wine, and then at the now partly empty bottle, but then he turns those gold flecked eyes up at me and I find the only drink I need is from his lips.

Softer than I remember from the brief passionate embrace at the club, his lips yield to mine, as if he needs to follow my lead, though his fingers seem to find their own way to the elastic and lace edge of panties, giving them a firm tug ending up with them nearly down to my knees. Looking down at them stretched between my knees, his hands still holding onto them, I find myself looking at the request clearly reflected in his eyes.

Cradling his face in my hands, I place my lips against his softly, gently, almost chastely and then I reach down to cover his hands with my own while I step out of them and kick them aside. Taking his hand in mine, I lead him to TIsh's little romantic setting and settle myself down into the pillows, his hand still in mine, and pat the floor beside me.

Almost reluctantly he joins me on the floor, amongst the throw pillows, the tips of his ears burning a bright pink as I reach to loosen his tie. Avoiding his anxious gaze, I pull the knot down on the tie until it's loose enough to slip over his head, but he catches my wrist in his hand and holds onto it, his gaze holding mine as if he's afraid to look away. I open my mouth to say something cute or comforting, unsure which to try, but before my lips and tongue have a chance to move, he kisses me fiercely, mashing his lips aggressively against mine until neither of us can breathe and have to separate or die.

"This isn't just...," his gaze drops from mine again and I watch as the red flush of blood begins to creep up his neck. "I care about you...about what happens to you." His hazel eyes turn up to meet mine and all I can do is smile at him, feeling that now familiar ball of emotion rising in my throat. Brushing his hair back from his face, with one hand, I drop the tie behind us with the other and offer him the only thing I have left to give now.

* * *

She lays beneath me, rolling onto her back with her hand still resting against my cheek, her emerald eyes looking up into mine with a sweet smile turning up the corners of her now swollen lips. I want to tell her how I feel, all of the things that are in my mind to say, on the tip of my tongue but she doesn't seem to need to hear them. She just looks up at me, as trusting as a puppy.

There's just one more thing before I can go any further, I know as I reach up to slide my fingers beneath the hair that is now fanned out across the pillows. If I'm going to do this, if I'm going to make love to her, I want it to be her, the real her, and not some more perfect version of her. She looks up at me, her eyes widening in surprise, her lips forming a silent 'o' but doesn't make a move to stop me as I gently push the wig off of her head and lay it aside.

"You're beautiful as you are," I whisper as I cover her lips with mine again, feeling her body mould itself to mine.

I can't hold back the groan as her body presses upwards, her hips arching against mine, her dress riding up as I my thighs naturally fit between hers'. I wish I was smoother, wish I didn't feel like a fumbling high school boy as I reach for my fly, tugging at it and my belt at the same time, but she doesn't laugh, only reaches to help, her deft fingers making short work of both, sliding my pants over my hips but thankfully not reaching for the aching and now almost painfully throbbing evidence of how much I want her. I know if she touched me now I'd lose all control. As it is, my hands are shaking as I try to undo the buttons on my shirt and I can barely struggle out of it without her help.

Even as she lays her cool fingertips on my shoulders I'm sure I'm about to lose control entirely and it seems like I'm already a hair's breadth away from taking her by force and using her like a whore. It's only by sheer will power and the reminder of her fragile state, her carefully sheared head, the prominence of her collarbones along with her otherwise pale complexion that I'm able to gently hold her in my arms and bring her to me, leaning her head against my shoulder so that I can reach back to unzip the dress.

I feel her shudder as my fingers draw the zipper down, my flesh touching hers' at last. Her arms wrap around me and I feel her forehead press against my neck and my own lips turn up into a smile. At long last it's her turn to be shy.

Reminding myself just how delicate she is, that despite everything we may feel, she is still ill, and in a weaker state than last I held her in my arms this way. With that reminder in mind, I gently place a kiss on the top of her bare head, feeling the soft down like growth there, like the top of a newborn's head, and carefully lay her back down, letting her take me down with her.

I hold her anxious gaze with what I hope is a comforting one of my own as I peel back the dress from her chest, laying her pallid skin bare to my touch and only when her green eyes flutter closed as the palm of my hand roams lightly across her breast do I allow my eyes to wander. Her perfectly pink nipples, a blush of colour against her snow white skin, harden at the faintest touch. As my lips surround first one, and then the other, I hear her draw in a ragged breath. Emboldened by the sound, I close my teeth gently around one of the little pink points and am rewarded with a sigh and the feel of her slender fingers lacing around the back of my head.

Smiling to myself I look for other ways to bring about these new and wonderful noises, which is why I spot the small pink, puckered scar on her breast, maybe an inch and a half long. As soon as I touch my finger to it though, I know I've done something wrong, caused some irreparable tear in the moment. I feel her freeze, know she's holding her breath, and look up to find her staring down at me, expectant.

It's just a scar, a battle scar, and nothing more. I should know. I live and breathe every day among men who have dozens and wear them proudly. I have less than most, but I have them.

Still, I'm not a woman and I know without having to be told that this is not a scar she wears proudly. Not yet. And yet I know, just by looking at it, and looking up into the face of the woman I've been falling for over the last few weeks, that she should and will one day be proud of this scar. It will be the reminder of what she's overcome and in this moment I want her to know that I already know this to be true and so, gently, slowly, I press my lips over the still new pink skin so unlike the snow white of the surrounding area, and turn my eyes up to hers to see a single tear track down her cheek.

* * *

Tender, sweet, gentle, generous...he is all these things and more I realize as he puts aside my dress and settles himself between my thighs. Looking up into his gold and bronze flecked eyes, I can hardly believe this was the moment I had dreaded all day.

The nurses had warned I would lose my libido and worse, should I try to actually copulate, I would be as dry as a wizened old crone. What little they know I think as I lay back amongst the pillows that Tish and Izzy had arranged carefully on the floor to hold my body off of the hard, cold floor. I can feel my desire slick between my legs and a deep ache in my belly and can't remember any more what I'd been so worried about.

When he reaches for his pants pocket though, I can't help but smile at the one benefit of all of the deadly toxic chemicals swimming in my system.

"You won't need that," I whisper, pulling his hand back to me and placing it back on my hip. "There isn't anything my meds won't have killed and I can't get pregnant now so...you don't need that," I explain. Still he glances towards the small, square foil wrapper now lying on the floor and then back at me.

"But you don't know...I could give you something and you're system is so knocked down...," he begins, worry for me filling his eyes. Reaching up to cradle his cheek in my hand I think how young and naive he seems and how very, very sweet.

"You're not Max," I grin, biting down on my bottom lip when he cracks a grin and shakes his head at me. He opens his mouth to say more but, pushing myself up on my elbows, I press my lips against his and silence him, bringing the rest of his solid, muscular form down on top of me. Before he has to time to think about it, before he comes up with some other argument, I reach between us and guide him inside, the air rushing out of my lungs as he fills me, stretches me, and then with a single thrust, slides home.

His eyes close and he releases a long, low moan, staying very still as if he's afraid to move. But I'm not. I wrap my legs around him, locking my ankles behind his back and pull him deeper, wanting, if only this once, to feel all of him, to have all of him. Seemingly in tune with my thoughts, he pushes himself up onto his hands and presses himself into me, his body meeting mine with a wet, sucking noise as my body grasps at his, pulling him deeper.

I hear him say my name, his voice almost a growl as he lifts my hips off of the floor and drives still deeper inside of me, brushing over that spot that makes my back bow and his name escape from my lips in a long, drawn out howl.

I wanted tender. I dreamed of romantic. But my body wants animalistic. My body craves to be taken, to be used roughly and abused, to be pillaged and sacrificed. My nails dig into his arms and I press up against him, meeting his thrusts with ones of my own, fighting against him and with him and urging him on with words I hardly recognize but that seem to urge him on, that have him tightening his grip, growling, gritting his teeth and finally biting down on my shoulder hard enough that I see stars but also brings me screaming over the edge.

The orgasm overwhelms us both, my eyes squeezing shut as I shudder and tremble beneath him, holding tight to him as he howls his victory cry into the curve of my neck.


	11. Chapter 11

o_kay so I lied. I do know where I'm going but I am having a hard time finding my way there. Thanks for your patience and thanks for reading._

C11

"That tickles," I hiss, digging my heels into the mattress and trying to twist away from her cool fingers which are busy tracing the outline of my abs.

"I can't believe you've almost eaten the entire contents of that crock pot and your stomach is still flat," she muses, running her palm across my stomach, seemingly endlessly amused by making goose bumps rise around her fingertips. Well, goose bumps and other things, I realize, as the thin crisp cotton sheet that had been draped flat across my hips has begun to tent, embarrassingly. As if I have no control, which it seems I don't, not around her. "Again?" she grins up at me, laughter making her green eyes sparkle as her chin digs into my hip, her warm breath blowing across my body in ways that make me shut my eyes, forcing myself to think about Max's stinky shoulder pads, my half rotten jock strap, anything but her cool, smooth body beneath mine.

"No, not again," I grumble, setting aside the plate, even as my stomach rumbles, wanting the few tasty morsels of chicken left on the plate. "You're supposed to be resting, and so am I," I remind her, reaching down to trace the dark purple stains left behind by her illness beneath her eyes with the pad of my thumb. "I shouldn't even be here. You should be sleeping."

"But I want you here," she complains quietly, crawling up and onto my lap, wrapping her arms around my neck and tucking her head under my chin. "I don't want you to go."

"I know," I sigh, holding her close to me, feeling how small and fragile her body feels, guilt rising in my throat, making it hard to breathe. "But you need to rest and every time I see you I can't help but want you," I admit pressing my lips to the top of her shorn head, "and that is definitely not helping you get your sleep. Besides, I should be resting too, remember? The first game is tomorrow and I can't afford to be tired."

"Can't you stay?" she asks, turning her big green eyes up at me and clutching onto me, reminding me of a little kid afraid of the dark holding onto their parent for dear life. Brushing the back of my hand down her cheek, I nod and am rewarded with a wide brilliant smile.

I watch her climb under the covers, like a little kid getting ready to listen to a bed time story, half sleepy, half eager. With one last yearning glance towards the few crumbs left on the plate, I reach over and turn out the light, sliding beneath the covers and wrapping my arms around her. I should be going home. I should be tucked up in my own bed, fast asleep. I have a huge day tomorrow.

But as she snuggles up against me and I feel her body grow warm and languid, against mine as her breathing slows, I can't help but smile. I'm needed. Everyone wants to be needed and I like that she seems to need me even though I know, somehow I need her too. As I stroke my hand down her arm, I almost feel like I'm petting a rabbit's paw or something like that. It's just this feeling I get when I think about her, like if she can fight this, if she can go through everything she's been going through, then maybe we can beat the Wings, maybe.

"Is it too much to ask for Zetterberg to get injured?" I ask, staring up at the ceiling as I think about the be-whiskered Swede who did such an amazing job of shutting me down last year. "Or Hoss," I add for good measure, although I'm certain that Max's voodoo doll is enough bad karma, I don't need to add anymore bad wishes towards him.

"Don't worry, you'll do fine," she whispers back, her fingers wrapping around mine as her cheek presses against my sternum. It's not what she says but how she says it, like she's talking with her teeth clenched that has me lifting my other hand to gently massage her temple.

"Are you getting another one of those headaches?" I ask, to which she nods, just the slightest movement of her cheek on chest but enough for me to feel her eyes squeezed tight and then tension in her jaw. "You should ask your doctor tomorrow about that," I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of her head. "They can probably change one of your prescriptions or something."

"Mmmhmm," she nods again, tightening her grip on my hand and then letting it go, rolling across the bed and out from under the covers, reaching for her robe as she sits up. I watch the glow of her pale white skin disappearing into her robe and then she forces herself to stand, her arms flying out to her sides for balance, and she teeters there for a moment, as if she might fall, and I hold my breath, ready to spring to her aid if she does, sure I can get there before she hits the ground.

But then she takes a shuffling step, and then another and then she reaches the bathroom door and tugs it open, not bothering to reach for the light. I suppose she's made this trip often enough over the last few weeks.

I listen to the sounds of her retching, staring at the closed door, wishing there was something I could do for her but she hasn't even got hair for me to hold back. Not that she'd let me even if she did. As it is, I know she's half mortified that I can even hear what she's doing in there. I know she won't be able to meet my gaze when she comes back out but I don't leave. I wait until I hear the tap running and for the buzz of her electric toothbrush, and then I lie back down, making room for her to slip into the bed, fuzzy robe and all, and then I pull her to me, tucking her little butt up against me and I lay my arm over her waist and kiss the nape of her neck and say nothing.

For her it's enough that I'm here so that she doesn't have to do this alone. For me, it's enough that she allows me be here for her. Now all I have to do is win that cup so that I can bring it home for her and then we can spend the entire summer getting her well.

* * *

"I don't understand all this...Greek and Latin and shit and I'm not a stupid person so...if you don't mind, skip the crap and just tell me," I sigh, rubbing at the spot between my eyes that's been throbbing for the better part of three days.

"You know how we talked about the cancer metastasizing?" Catherine begins, using another one of those big words, one that I actually know and understand, but that's not the point. I'm getting the distinct impression that she's stalling for time and if it's one thing my body's been telling me over the last few days, as blissful as it's been to be at home and spending time with Sidney, is that I don't have a lot of time.

"Cut the shit Cath, please," I mumble, pinching the bridge of my nose and squeezing my eyes shut because the lights in the examination room are blinding and doing nothing to help ease the pounding in my head. "How bad is and how long do I have?"

"It's bad and not long." I open one eye, hoping that it won't be too painful, and look up at Doctor McHotstuff standing in the doorway in his mint green scrubs, clip board in hand, three days worth of dark stubble on his chin. Smiling up at him, which is the best I can manage in acknowledgement of his forthrightness, I can't help but think that Tish will hate that she missed out on Hot Doctor, no matter how preoccupied she seems with Hot Staalsy. "The tumour is beginning to wrap around one of the optic nerves, which you're probably feeling now as that headache that has you wincing in the light and probably a pretty good headache," he adds, tapping the side of his nose with his ball point pen mimicking where my fingers are still pinching the bridge of my nose.

"What Doctor O'Neal is trying to say," Catherine starts off again with that calm, cool, collected bed side manner of hers' again, shooting the surgeon and his clip board a dirty look, "is that we have some options we'd like to put to you. Isn't that right, Doctor O'Neal?"

Managing to open both eyes, I turn my attention to Doctor Hotstuff and look up into his sky blue eyes and see the truth reflected back at me. Yeah, he's got options alright and I'm not going to like any of them. Turning the light on behind this white plastic window, he tosses an image of my skull up onto the screen and points the end of his pen at it so that I can see the white mass attached to my frontal lobe like some kind of alien sea creature, all tendrils and suckers.

My fingers subconsciously reach up to probe my forehead, as if I should be able to feel something that big behind the thick wall of my skull. As if it might just reach out, poke through my skin and shake hands.

I trace the length of the white mass that contrasts so brightly in the scan with the grey of the rest of my brain and wonder how it is I didn't know it was there. You know when you have a zit, even without looking you can feel it and know exactly where it is. Something this big, I feel like my head should be tilting forward all the time.

Except I have felt it. Of course I have. I've had a headache for weeks, maybe longer. Maybe...

"Could I have had this...for a while and the breast cancer...everything else was secondary?" I ask, watching Doctor Hotstuff smile back at me like I'm some kind of prize pupil that's just giving him the right answer in front of the rest of the class.

"That's my thinking," he agrees, snapping up another scan, a profile shot which makes me look like Brainiac or something, my entire head and brain looming large in the scan, my neck, my vertebrae, seemingly ready to topple under the weight. "Now we _have_ talked about this, my colleagues and I, and yes, we have some options but I want to tell you that none of them are going to work miracles here. I can't guarantee that I can remove the entire tumour, or that you'll experience a full recovery of any kind." I feel my heart stop in my chest, although just looking at the scan that would have been my guess. Still, to hear it out loud.... "You need to know that operating on the frontal lobe...."

"I know all about the results of lobotomies," I whisper, holding my hand up to stop him from explaining, from making me hear any more. "I don't want anything done that will...affect my _personality_," I add, looking the surgeon directly in the eye, "and I don't want any kind of...heroics," I add breathlessly, wishing like hell there was someone's hand to hold onto now, but then again, maybe it's better this way. "I guess now would be a good time to sign a D.N.R.?"

* * *

"That's not a house, that's a castle," she breathes, looking up at the house through the gates as they swing open.

"I know, it's rock star huge," I admit, remembering the way I felt the first time Mario's SUV pulled up the driveway. I was already homesick and tired from a long day of press conferences and I just wanted to put my head down on a pillow, anywhere, and sleep for about a week. Then we drove up the drive way and I thought to myself, well Dorothy, we're not in Coal Harbour anymore. Even my own place back home doesn't compare to this brick and mortar castle. I definitely don't even need all of the room I have but then I don't have a mess of kids either. Not yet anyway.

"You could have told me, warned me," she says, her eyes still glued on the house, her hands reaching to tug off the Pens baseball hat she was wearing at the game, tossing it into the back seat before digging through her purse for one of those scarves she wears. "Sidney, I'm wearing jeans and a jersey," she grumbles, flipping the visor down to see her reflection in the mirror.

"It's just a barbeque by the pool," I remind her, reaching over to help, holding the scarf in place while she ties it. "Especially since we lost, we're definitely not going to get all formal tonight."

"Yeah but when you said dinner after the game I thought you meant you and me and maybe Trish and Jordy at some pizza place or something," she moans, tugging at the scarf and turning her head to see if it's on straight. I know it's not for my benefit, I know that she's more worried about how other people will react to her shaved head. She knows I don't think she needs any of this stuff, but I don't stop her as she pulls her make up bag out of her purse and starts filling in her eyebrows and re-touching her lipstick.

"Well it probably _will_ be just you and me, mostly. I imagine Mario and Nat have had dinner already," I explain, putting the Land Rover back into gear and nosing it down the drive. "They might come out for a drink but that's probably about it. They're really good about giving me my space," I add, trying to be comforting even though I can see her heart beat in the veins of her neck, her pulse beating rapidly, making the thin skin at her throat almost quake.

"Yeah but...it's Mario freaking Lemieux. I mean, he was all my dad talked about. I mean...I remember the day after they won the cup and they came into the bar with it and...and it was all he could talk about. He was so proud that they brought the cup in and let him pour beer into it. I grew up with that picture in the house, Mario and my dad drinking beer out of the Cup. Like he was a member of my family or something," she tries to explain, her eyes wide, and if she wasn't already so pale, I'd say she'd gone white from fear.

"He's a great guy and he's going to love you, I swear," I add, leaning over to press my lips against hers'. "Besides, if I'd stayed one more night at your place Natalie was going to show up at your apartment asking about a hundred questions. I think this is better, don't you?"

* * *

"What are you going to do with it, when you win I mean?" I ask, keeping my voice pitched soft and low, even though I had counted off the steps between the bedrooms and the pool, mostly to satisfy myself that the pool is far enough from little ears that it's unlikely we'll be overheard.

"Shhh," he grins playfully, kicking water in my direction, but only lightly splashing me. "You don't talk about it. Especially not after tonight's game,"

"It was just one game and you weren't that far out of it," I smile over at him, feeling his warm hand cover mine, watch as he lifts it to his soft lips. "You must have thought about though? What you'll do with it?" His grin fades at the edges and he turns his face away, staring into the pool, the lights glowing gold just below the surface, making the water look like something alien amongst the surrounding dark.

"Of course I have," he begins softly, his feet making lazy circles in the artificially warmed water, the marks of tape worn tightly around his ankles still showing despite the advanced hour. I feel his grip loosen on my hand as he shifts his weight, the cool concrete surround not nearly as comfortable as the well appointed deck chairs we'd been sitting in not so long ago.

"So? What will you do with it?" I ask again, giving his hand a gentle but firm squeeze. Glancing down at our enjoined hands, his gaze slowly makes its way up to meet mine, a dreamy smile on his face.

"I'll probably kiss it..._a lot_," he begins his hazel eyes catching the reflected light from the pool, the gold flecks in his iris seeming to shimmer and dance. "Then I guess I'll skate around with it and then hand it off to someone, maybe Flower or Jordy," he adds with a shrug.

"And then...? After?" I ask, remembering the grin on my father's face and the noise when Mario and his teammates showed up with the Cup at the bar. It wasn't even upsetting to think that he had never been that happy for me.

He would be now, I thought as I watched the secretive curve of Sidney's lips as he turned his attention back to the ripples around our feet as he made lazy circles in the water, thinking. My dad had definitely called it the day the Pens got the lucky pick in the Sidney stakes. '_You watch_' he'd said, smiling at the TV, a beer in his hand held up as if to toast the winning lottery ball, '_the days of Mario in his prime are returning to Pittsburgh. We're about to witness the second coming my darling_' he'd said, pride deepening his voice as if Sidney was his own flesh and blood.

Of course he would have liked that, had tried his best to put me in Sidney's way more than once and not just at the hockey and heels dinner either. He'd made all the bartenders put their tips together one week to buy me a ticket to a special black tie dinner, at Sidney's table no less. I'd made him give the money back.

What I wouldn't do for that time back now, I think as I watch him kick his feet in the water, his pale toes breaking the surface as he turns to me, smiling. If only I'd had that time with him....

"I'll bring it to the bar, where we met," he grins, squeezing my hand, "even if we win at home. That's a promise." Shaking my head, I turn my face away from his so he won't see the tear running down my cheek. One tear, the other tear duct doesn't seem to be keeping up.

"You should bring it here," I tell him quietly, looking out at expanse surrounding the house, the tall old trees, all of the room around the big house. "I've never had a pool party...never had a pool," I add with a shrug, turning to look over at him, seeing the mischievous light suddenly spark in his eyes.

"Me neither, not 'til I moved here," he grins, suddenly letting go of my hand to tug off his shirt before clambering to his feet and tugging at this belt.

"Sidney!!" I hiss, glancing back at the French doors leading to the hallway, the wine cellar and Mario's office.

"They've all gone to bed. C'mon," he turns that boyish grin on me as he pushes his pants down over his hips. "I bet you've never gone skinny dipping before either."

"No," I admit, feeling the heat rise to my face as he steps out of his boxer briefs, kicking them to the side all the while holding his hand out for me. "Are you kidding me?" Shaking his head, he wiggles his fingers enticingly at me and then turns and dives into the pool, sending water spraying in ever direction and making an enormous noise at the same time.

Closing my eyes, I shake my head but can't stop from grinning. There's no end to the surprises from this boy, especially considering I know he would say that he isn't the spontaneous type. I open my mouth to give in and open my eyes just in time to see a tidal wave heading in my direction as he pushes a wall of water in my direction, meant to soak me out of my clothes. Scrambling backwards, I hear myself squeal and then wince and clap my hand over my mouth, sure that sound will bring someone running.

"C'mon Randi," he calls, standing where the water hits him mid chest, holding his hands out to me. "Jump."

Sounds like what I should have been doing my entire life, I think as I shimmy out of my already too loose jeans and tug off my new powder blue Pens jersey. I always played it safe, always thought things through, always tried to make the right decision, the political decision.

And now I'm out of time.

Well not _quite_ out of time, I grin as I wave my bra around my head like a flag of surrender before running across the cement lip of the pool and diving into his arms. Not quite.


	12. Chapter 12

_Not that I'm not relieved to see Hal Gill go but Scuds too? Ummm are the Pens going to actually add some D men cuz....am I the only one that's worried? _

_Oh well...back to my dream-scape..._

C12

"You're getting the operation, that's all there is to it."

Turning my tired eyes up at my brother I afford him a small smile, which is all the pounding in my head will allow.

"This is exactly why I didn't take up Mario's very kind offer to share his box tonight," I reply quietly, which still sounds horrendously loud in my ears.

"Con's right Randi, you can't just give up like this. If they can take it out, then you have to do it," Tish argues, her eyes red rimmed and swollen from crying. I can relate. I've cried my fair share of tears over the last few days, but now I'm just too tired to cry anymore.

"Of everyone I know T...you have a minor in Psych, I know you read about lobotomies. Is that what you want for me? To sit in the corner, staring into space, maybe answering to my name, maybe not?" I argue back, my decision crystal clear in my mind.

"You don't know that it would be like that," Tish argues back, grabbing for my hand and squeezing it hard, forcing my attention away from the screen and Sidney's dark curls falling onto his forehead from beneath his helmet and his focussed expression as he watches his teammates preparing for another face off. Though the Pens look gritty and determined, Detroit is still looking solid and hasn't been giving an inch so far in this game. I feel for him, knowing full well how frustrated he is right now, wishing he could change things and feeling like he should be able to do better. I knew the feeling all too well.

"I do, actually," I reply quietly feeling entirely exhausted at the thought of continuing this argument, even though I'd prepared myself for the barrage, or thought I had. "I saw the scans, remember. I saw the...many limbed alien that's eating my brain." I see the horror on Tish's face when I say it and can't help but smile. That's the way I think of it, especially after seeing the scans, because that's what it looked like to me; some kind of jellyfish that's currently sucking my life away through my brain, its tentacles invading my brain from every direction. Somehow it seems less threatening when I think of it that way, but obviously Tish doesn't share my opinion.

"Just like mom," Conner snarls from the corner of the living room where he's keeping busy, rearranging the bottles behind my bar, to give himself something to do, keep his hands occupied. I can feel Izzy straining towards her husband, but she also isn't letting go of my hand. She's a real gem. I'm glad Conner has her now.

"That's not fair," Izzy says quietly, and I don't need to look at her to know that she's giving him that look; the look that a wife can give a husband that admonishes and supports at the same time. It's a look only couples who know each other well can share. I experience a moment of pure green monster envy, knowing I'll never know what that feels like, and then, taking a deep breath, I decide to defend myself as best I can.

"What do you want me to do Con? Do you want me to be a drooling mess that you have to pay to keep in a convalescent home? Is that what you want for me?" He won't even look at me, continuing to move the bottles around, arranging them by size and then by name and apparently developing a sudden onset of deafness. "Answer me Con. Is that what you think is best? Because if that's what you want...if it will make you happy...."

"Of course it's not what I want!" he roars, turning around so I can see his tear stained face. I hear Izzy gasp beside me, her sharp intake of breath mirroring my own as I look up at my big, tough brother, his tanned and handsome face streaked with big fat wet tears. "Fuck Randi! I don't want to go through this again. I can't believe you're just going to roll over and...and...," his voice trails away, his mind editing out the word I know he can't bear to say out loud.

"Fine...if that's what you want, if you really want me to go through it even if it doesn't cure anything I'll...."

"No you won't," Tish says quietly, pulling me to her and wrapping her long arms around me. "None of us want you to be the drooling crazy lady in the corner, even if it means you could check out all the cute guys and totally get away with it," she adds, a hint of amusement in her voice as she cradles my head against her shoulder. Good old Tish. Even with a knife in her heart she could come up with something funny to say. A moment later I can feel Izzy press her forehead against the spot between my shoulder blades, her hands holding onto my shoulders. "None of us want that for you, do we Con?"

I can't see it, but I know she's giving Conner that look, the one that dares him to disagree at his own peril. You don't mess with Tish when she's like this. I know. I'm stupid enough to have tried more than once. Conner must have opened his mouth to argue because I can hear Tish hiss at him, like a mother cat defending her kittens, and even Con won't argue with her when she gets her claws out like this.

Izzy withdraws the warmth of her body and I know she's gone to settle her husband and I can't blame her. There's no more that she can do for me. I wish there was.

"Have you told him yet?" Tish asks, withdrawing enough so that I can see her attention has been drawn back to the screen where her honey is leaning against the boards, seemingly deep in thought as Sidney gestures towards the ice, talking quickly, seriously.

"No, and we won't either. Not until after the series is over, one way or the other. Okay?" I look up at her and she manages to wrench her attention from the screen to look down at me, tears glistening in her dark eyes. She nods, before pressing her forehead to mine. I don't tell her it hurts for her to do that. I can ignore the added pain, for now.

"Even if he might play better and it might give them something to win for?" she asks, her dark eyes looking into mine, laughter glittering behind her tears.

"You think they don't have enough motivation, that _he_ doesn't have enough motivation?" I ask, shaking my head and laughing as she shrugs and rolls her eyes. "Besides, what if it made things worse? What if it made him suck and they lost in four?"

"Not gonna happen," she muses, lifting her lips to press them softly to my brow. "I so gave Jordan a reason to play better this game. Just wait. You'll see."

"Well you can do that but don't tell them, not even Jordan, please?" I sigh, sitting back and closing my eyes, sending up a silent prayer that they can find some way to pull this game out of their collective asses.

"Not a word, not to anyone, promise," Tish sighs, reaching for my hand and holding it tightly between hers. "But don't you dare just lay here and feel sorry for yourself Randi. Maybe there's something else we can do, some other treatments, some other way to fight this. Promise me we can look into some other therapies, okay?" she asks, squeezing my hand tightly.

Nodding, I silently give my assent even though I have very little faith in anything we might find. Still, if there is any way, I think as I open my eyes to watch Sidney fighting to win a puck battle against the corner boards; if I can just fight like he does...maybe I can have a little miracle. Otherwise it would be just too cruel to give him to me now.

* * *

I shouldn't be here, I think to myself as I walk down the hallway, but I just seemed to end up here. As soon as I turned out of the parking lot from Mellon, something just sort of drew me here. I didn't even really think about it. This is just where I ended up.

Still, I shouldn't be here. I should be back at home, catching the few hours of sleep we're to be afforded before hitting the ice again. I'm bone weary, and covered in bruises and just about everything aches but we won. Thanks mostly to Jordy we won. That's what matters. We've finally swung the momentum in our favour.

And I want to share it with her. I want to see her smile at me and know that she's happy for me, that she's proud of what we did out there tonight. I want her to know that we fought hard, that I fought hard, for her.

I kept thinking about her when I was out there, when Zetterberg was racing me for the puck, when I felt winded and tired and didn't think I'd be able to outreach him. I thought about her, about the way she smiles even though I know she feels like hell. She smiles for me so I knew could beat Zetterberg to the puck, for her.

Loosening my tie I round the corner of the hall to see her big gorilla of a brother and his comparatively small, darkly tanned wife coming out of her apartment. My feet stop moving and my heart beat doubles when I look up into his face, to see how tired, how completely spent he looks, as if he's the one that just played game three against the Red Wings and not me.

"She'll be glad to see you."

Jordy's Patricia emerges from behind them, a set of keys jangling in her hand. She smiles over at me, like she's glad to see me, but the smile doesn't hide the fact that she looks just as exhausted as I feel. Randi must be having a bad night.

"Are you sure? I mean I could...," I glance over my shoulder, thinking about my Land Rover parked in the underground parking lot, in the visitor's parking spot, and home and my own bed but neither thought is appealing.

"No, you go on. Like I said, she'll be glad to see you," she says, encouragingly, slipping the keys into her purse and then pressing her hands to Randi's brother's back and steering him down the hallway. I watch them go, watch them disappear around the corner, before putting my hand on the doorknob and pushing the door open, into the apartment.

For a moment all I see is nothing, darkness. Then, as my eyes adjust to the darkness, I see a single candle burning low on the entertainment centre and Randi, curled up on the couch, her cheek resting on her forearm, asleep with only an afghan pulled up to her shoulders.

Smiling and shaking my head, I push the door shut behind me and lock it, throwing the dead bolt and sliding the chain into place before shrugging out of suit jacket and toeing out of my shoes, leaving both in the hall before padding across the carpet to stand over her sleeping form.

I don't even want to wake her. She looks so sweet and peaceful that it seems selfish to disturb her. Still, I convince myself that she'd be more comfortable in her own bed. So I scoop her up into my arms, afghan and all, and turn to head for her room.

She doesn't open her eyes but her lips curl up into a contented smile and she manages to snake her arms around my neck and rest her cool cheek against my shoulder.

"Congrats," she sighs, her voice, barely above a whisper is lost in a yawn that ends up with her teeth nipping at my jaw line. I think about the scraggly, greasy hair I'm currently growing there, my poor excuse for a playoff beard, which at least is better than the one I grew last year. It doesn't seem to faze her however, as she emits a quite giggle as she rubs her smooth cheek against my rough one. "Pirate."

"What's that?" I ask, laying her down as gently as I can on her bed, pushing the sheets down then up over her shoulder, tucking her in.

"Aaargh, a-hoy and a bottle of rum," she giggles again, reaching up to lay her hand flat against my cheek, her green eyes finally opening until they are looking into mine. "That's what you look like," she explains, quietly, letting her hand slide across my cheek and back, her fingers curling around my neck, pulling my lips down to hers'. "It's a pirate beard."

"Is it?" I ask, grinning down at her, all my aches and pains forgotten as the brilliant light of her smile shines up at me. She nods, very seriously and then giggles again.

"Sexy," she mutters, her other hand wrapping itself in my tie, tugging me down over her. "Much better than Zetterberg...Viking Raider, not really _as_ sexy," she adds with a grin, offering her sweet lips to mine again. I tell myself I should be letting her sleep, should be tucking her in and going home to my own bed, but the temptation of her lips is too strong and to make things worse, she's tossed aside the quilt so that only separation between us is our clothes.

Climbing onto the bed, I feel her body meld to mine, her fingers tugging at my dress shirt where it's tucked into my pants her lips opening inviting beneath mine. I tell myself that I'll only take one more kiss, one long, warm kiss that leaves my entire body tingling and warm, and then I'll go. But as her cool hands slide up beneath my shirt, over my back until her fingers curl around my shoulders, holding me to her and her thighs open, cradling my body between them, I know that there won't be any going home for me, not tonight.


	13. Chapter 13

_Not much to say this time, except to say that no matter how much you ask me I'm not telling you where this is going. You'll just have to keep reading to find out!_

C13

"I _really_ don't like needles," I mutter, watching the practitioner Tish has brought me to out of the corner of my eye. I don't dare look directly at that stack of needles she's putting together or I'll panic.

"You'd think you'd be used to them by now," Tish muses, not even bothering to glance up from the magazine she's reading in the corner, Sports Illustrated, a huge change for her.

"You'd think," I reply quietly, trying to lie still and trying even harder not to stare at the small quick hands that are coming towards me armed with dozens of long, slim pins in her hand. Because truly that's what they look like, long pins, maybe hat pins from the turn of the century. I seem to remember my mother showing me one she'd kept from her grandmother, long and thin with an amethyst at the top. These look kind of the same, only she's put tissue or something at the tips of them and I know, from what Tish has told me, once she's got them all positioned, turning me into a porcupine, she'll light them all up. That doesn't make me feel any better about this.

"Relax, Randi. That's the whole idea of this. You have to relax and let Doctor Yang do her stuff," Tish mumbles from her corner, like she's barely paying attention, which I suppose is fair. After all, she does this sort of thing all the time, swears by it and has been telling me to do this since…well since before I was sick anyway.

"I don't like needles," I mutter, scrunching my eyes shut as the doctor's quick hands spin one of the little silver pins and shoves it somewhere on my right foot. I feel it, but it doesn't hurt, not like getting a needle when they're drawing blood or giving meds. It doesn't hurt as much as that. In fact hurt wouldn't be the right word at all. "That wasn't bad," I say, aiming a triumphant grin towards Tish, who only looks up briefly from her magazine and rolls her eyes at me.

"You know, for someone who's been going through chemo and having biopsies, you're a big baby, you know that?" Shaking her head, she returns to whatever article she's reading and back to ignoring me, but I keep smiling.

I'm trying to keep a positive attitude. That's what Sidney says he does and part of why they won games three and four to take it back to the Motor city all tied up. Knowing they could do it, and imagining it, visualizing he calls it. It's part of what he does when he's taping up his sticks. He's not really looking at the tape, he doesn't have to. He's visualizing the game, goals he's going to score, passes he's going to make. So I'm trying it. I'm thinking about all the links between all these pins that are being pressed into my skin until I look like a pin cushion and I'm trying to imagine my…what did Tish call it? My chi, yes that was it; I'm trying to imagine my chi re-aligning, making me healthier, stronger.

I don't know if I believe it, but I want to, _have_ to, if I'm going to try and fight this. If I'm honest, I don't know how I really feel. I keep changing my mind. One minute I'll feel all brave and calm about facing the inevitability of this disease, the next I'm waking up in a cold sweat, crying and shaking and terrified.

"Something's burning," I mutter, half on the edge of sleep, the vision of Sidney's determined face in my head taking me somewhere else entirely.

"Yeah you. I can practically hear the whistle of the steam coming out of your ears. Now stop talking and relax," the doctor says and then mutters something under her breath in an entirely different language that makes Tish giggle.

"I hate when you do that," I sigh, going back to my visualization as I try and lie still and ignore the warm, almost hot sensation I'm feeling at the end of each little pin prick.

"Whatever, just shut up," Tish snorts and I imagine her shaking her head at me but I keep my eyes firmly closed. The visions in my head are just so much better.

* * *

"So I was thinking, after all this, I mean sometime in the summer, I was thinking I might ask Randi to marry me." I look sideways towards Fleur, who doesn't even miss a beat in pulling his pads on but I do see the corners of his lips turn up in the hint of a smile. "Say something. Don't leave me hangin'," I sigh, going back to tying my skates, my heart pounding just as hard in my chest as it had when I woke up from my nap this afternoon and realized that this is how serious I feel about her.

"Que m'aimes-tu dire?" he asks with a shrug. "If you want someone to talk you out of it, you should ask Max," he adds, his lips turning up into a full fledged grin.

"Hell no," I laugh, glancing at the crazy be-whiskered Frenchman as he wanders around, still in his towel, back hair and all. "I don't want to be talked out of it…I just want to know if you think I'm crazy."

"Est-ce que je tu pense suis fu?" Fleur looks thoughtful and then shakes his head. "No, I could tell. That night when we are at the bar, I could tell it was bad for you. That you had it bad for her then and now as well, non?"

"Yeah, I have it bad," I smile to myself, thinking about the night before last, about making love to her for hours, holding her in my arms, waking up with her body tucked neatly into mine. "Oui, c'est très mauvais."

"Then I'm happy for you," Fleur's grin widens as he holds his hand out to me. "As long as you wait until after we win the cup, c'est bien?"

"Deal," I laugh, taking his hand and giving it a firm shake. "You're awfully cocky tonight Flower."

"We have them on the run, non?" he grins, his usually pale skin showing signs of high colour.

"Certainement mes frères," Max says loudly, putting a hand on both of our shoulders and dropping his towel in the process. "Fuck the Red Wings, the Penguins are coming through."

Fleur and I both shake our heads and go back to dealing with our own equipment. We're used to Mad Max's penchant for unnecessary nudity by now, but still, with his beast at eye level, we both go back to tying our skates, which is a far preferable view at this point, thank you very much.

* * *

"I sent your scans to another neurosurgeon," Conner says resolutely, like there's nothing wrong with intruding on private doctor patient privilege or making decisions on my behalf without so much as consulting me. He even manages to look pleased with himself. I should be mad at him, but I'm too tired and my head is banging and the game is about to start and I just want him to shut up so I instead of screaming at him, I paint a smile on my face and raise a single eyebrow in query.

"And?"

"And he thinks that he can definitely extend the time you've got, give you some...what did he call it Izz?" he asks, turning to his wife who is back to crocheting baby booties and ignoring us, which is probably the safer bet. Even if I was well we'd be having some kind of sibling related argument right about now. He'd probably be cheering for the Wings, just to be contrary. But then again maybe not, that would make dad turn over in his grave.

"Quality of life," Izz smiles up at me, but not one of her big dazzling isn't life grand smiles, it's more of one of those, 'oh poor you smiles' which makes me wonder what else this supposed surgeon had to say.

"He also said he could help with your pain," Conner says proudly like he's looking for a sticker on his report or something. I'd give him one too, if I had one to give. Mostly as a 'thanks for caring' sort of gesture, but all I can do is smile and nod at him.

"I have these pills," I reply, shaking the orange tubes of the good stuff, the Fentanyl and the Morphine.

"Yeah but they make you sleep all the time and Doctor Goldwein says that by removing...how much of the tumour?" he turns again to Izzy and I glance at the television. They're about to start the anthems. I really wish Izz would tell me the rest so this would go faster.

"Fifty percent," she replies without looking up, not even to give me a pity smile, which isn't like her. Glancing down at her just beginning to show belly I wonder how much of it has to do with guilt about a niece or nephew I might never see and how much my brother isn't telling me about what else this doctor had to say about my scans.

"Yeah, just by removing some of it, the pressure would be reduced and you'd feel better right away," Conner grins at me, like he's just done something worthy of getting a pat on the head. Like he's some kind of big Labrador puppy sitting at me knee with a ball in his mouth, waiting to be praised. I want to do it too. I want to pat him on the head and kiss him on his nose, but there's that part of what he's saying, the extending part, that sits like a lead weight in my stomach. Not a cure, just an extension. Like on a term paper. Nobody ever says you don't have to do the paper, they just give you an extra week and it sounds like heaven when they say it, but then when it comes due you still end up staying up all night writing it.

"Think of everything you could do with a couple months Randi," Tish adds, suddenly drawing back into the conversation, turning away from the TV and reaching for my hand. "Think where we could go! Paris, Milan, Venice...anywhere you want," she adds when I make a face at her choices. I have no real desire to go to any of those places. I'd much rather go to New Orleans or Disneyland but I do know what she's trying to say.

"But what about the complications? What did this wonder doctor of yours say about those?" I ask, giving Tish's hand a gentle squeeze, which is actually all I can manage today, before turning back to my brother who narrows his eyes, his heavy brow lowering until his eyebrows almost hide his eyes from sight.

"Why do you have to do that? Why do you have to be so _fucking_ negative all the time? Why can't you be happy about this idea? Why do you always worry about the fucking what ifs? Why can't you just be positive for a fucking change? You're just like fucking mom. The world's so fucking black and white to you. I don't get it." I meet my brother's gaze and shrug. I can't really expect him to understand. In fact this is really the first time in ever that I've understood the choices my mother made. I used to be just as furious as he is at her, but I'm not. Not lately anyways.

"Well someone has to worry about my brain...you know, 'cuz it's mine," I point out, trying to lighten up the conversation, partly because they've dropped the puck now and partly because I don't want to fight. It just seems so pointless.

"There you go again, blowing shit off. Fuck!" Conner pushes up to his feet and turns his back on all of us, running his thick fingers through his dark hair. The action reminds me of someone else and even though I know if Conner turns around and sees me not paying attention to him he's likely to go even further off the deep end, my attention is naturally drawn towards the TV.

Sidney is slowly circling one of the face-off circles, his head down, his expression grave. He looks tense and pale, and as he bends to press his stick across his knees, turning to face Zetterberg across the dot, he actually looks nervous.

He rarely looks like that with me anymore. It almost makes me miss the uncertain young man I'd met in the bar, although I have to admit I like the take charge Sidney that holds me in his arms all night and wakes me to make love in the early morning light. I don't even mind his play off beard now, but I am sort of looking forward to kissing him without it.

Looking forward….I'm actually looking forward to something. That has to be a good sign.

"Okay Con, I'll see this surgeon of yours," I offer, watching my younger sibling turn and focus me in the glow of his own version of a boyish grin.

"You will?" I nod, and allow him to crush me against the barrel of his chest, feeling my breath cut off as his ape like arms squeeze my ribs tightly around my lungs.

"I will, just let me watch the damn game Con, you big goof," I manage to cough as he lets me go, one arm still thrown protectively around my shoulders as he squeezes his over sized form between the smaller ones of myself and that of his diminutive wife.

"I'll make an appointment tomorrow, okay?" he grins down at me and I only shake my head and shrug. As if I could possibly stop him.

* * *

"Flower told me about your little plan." Jordy pulls my psp out of my hands and holds it just out of my reach. "Do you really think that's such a good idea?"

"I know we lost Staalsy but…don't take it out on me okay?" I grumble, aiming a fist into the solid muscle of his stomach. It makes him wince, but probably because of all of the beatings he's been taking along the boards and not because of my fist.

"You hardly know the girl," he points out, lifting the psp higher so that if I want to get it out of his hands not only am I going to have to unbuckle my seat belt but I'm going to have to climb onto my seat to. An indignity I'm not willing to suffer at this point. Not after the game we played tonight.

"I hear what you're saying, okay? Now can I have my psp back?" I ask, giving him the full brunt of my exhausted and unhappy stare.

"And she's sick," he adds, lowering his arm, but not enough for me to be able to grab the portable device from his hand. I glance at the game console and then back up at him, shaking my head.

"I know that dummy, I'm not blind. But she's getting better okay? Now, if there's no other amazingly life altering announcements you'd like to make…," I sigh, holding my hand out for him to place the psp back into but he only stares down at me with those icy blue eyes of his without so much as the faintest hint of a smile on his face. For a minute I'd thought he was trying to play some kind of practical joke, or just be an asshole in general, just to sort of lighten the generally suicidal mood of the guys on the plane but now I'm not so sure.

"Yeah but…do you know that? I mean, you're not a doctor, _sooo_….?" His voice trails off as he looks down at me like I'm stupid, like I'm not following his lead and I am _so_ not in the mood to play hot, hot cold right now.

"Can you just do me a favour and spit out whatever it is you're trying to say without saying it Jordy cuz I'm too fucking tired to play your reindeer games right now." I stare up at him and he stares back at me and neither one of us blinks for what seems like…well, way too long and then he shrugs and hands me back my portable play station.

"I'm just saying…I mean, not everyone gets better right? Not everyone is Mario you know?" he adds with another shrug, dropping his gaze from mine and turning away from us, but I grab his arm, wrapping my hand around his wrist and tugging him back hard enough that he falls into Marc's vacated seat. He' s still hiding in the bathroom, even though we've all told him it's wasn't his fault.

"I don't get it Jordy. I thought you liked Randi? I thought you liked that I was finally going with someone? What the fuck is this about?" I ask, clenching as tightly as I can to his wrist, watching my knuckles turn white while I wait for his blue eyes to look up at me.

"Yeah well…maybe it's not good now…you know? Maybe you're distracted and shit right now and you shouldn't be," he shrugs, still refusing to look up at me, which tells me that whatever he's saying isn't really what he's trying to say.

"Fucking spit it out," I grumble, letting go of his arm and tossing it across his chest as if it doesn't really belong to him, as if he's some kind of rag doll.

"I'm just saying…maybe you shouldn't get too attached you know? I mean…cancer…you don't know right? I mean, it comes back and shit so…you know, maybe you just shouldn't get all ahead of yourself," he adds with another shrug and then pushes himself to his feet. "I don't know, I'm just saying.…." He finally turns those ice blue eyes on me and sort of gives me a half assed smile with those big Steven Tyler lips of his and then shrugs again.

"Are you saying you know something? Something I don't know?" I ask, thinking about Jordy's latest squeeze, Randi's friend, the leggy Asian that he's been wrapped around most of the time lately.

"No, no," he says, a little too quickly, shaking his head and shrugging. "I just…you know…worry about you and shit," he says in this offhand sort of manner before shuffling away, going back to the card game that Max has going in the back of the jet.

I watch him go, but when he turns to look back at me I just shake my head and go back to playing So-Com on my console, hoping to put a bullet in the back of Gill's big fat head, wishing that it was maybe for real after the way he played tonight.

Besides, I tell myself, I'd know if there was something worse with Randi. Or she'd tell me. We're in a relationship after all. I'd know…I just would. She's fine. She's totally fine, getting better all the time. Jordan's just overreacting to the shit game we played, pointing fingers instead of accepting blame. I should talk to Coach about it, but later, after everyone's calmed down, maybe tomorrow at practice, but definitely after I've seen Randi because what I need right now, after that game, is her; her arms, her soft lips, her smile. Jordy will see Tish, get laid, we'll all be fine, just fine, and we'll lay the smack down in our own building. We'll get a game seven. I'd be willing to put money on it.


	14. Chapter 14

C14

"I'm sorry."

Her arms slip around my waist and my eyes close; partly in relief, partly to truly enjoy the feeling of her in my arms. I know she's sympathizing with me about the game, but I'm already past that. I have to be. I'm not thinking about the next game yet though. I was, but I'm not now.

How can I be with the sweet smell of strawberries rising from the newly grown peach fuzz atop her head and the more musky scents of jasmine and vanilla emanating from her skin, filling my head and chasing away every thought, every worry, every feeling but this, having her in my arms in the safe and private nest of her apartment.

I pull the door shut behind us, reaching back to turn the lock as I press my fingertips to her lips to silence any other words of condolence she might offer, no matter how heartfelt. I don't need to hear them now. What's done is done. I can't change it now. I can think about it again later. I'll torture myself watching the tapes tomorrow. I'll probably even wake up in a cold sweat later, visions of Zetterber's toothy grin filling my head.

Now, I don't want anything but her. I want her lips and her soft skin and her body wrapped around mine and more than anything else, I want to see her jade green eyes flutter closed as her lips fall open around my name as I bring her to the edge of that little death. I want to hold her face in my hands as we lose ourselves in one another's bodies.

The rest can wait. It will still be there when I get up in the morning.

She looks up at me, her eyes narrowed, her soft, pink lips pursing as if she'd like to argue but then, with the most infinitesimal of shrugs of her shoulders, she decides against it and turns and leads me to the couch, where we sit amongst the throw cushions, her body fitting neatly between my legs, her back pressed to my chest, my arms around her. I listen while she tells me about her day, about being turned into a pin cushion at the acupuncturist and her lunch with Tish; little things, normal things, every day things. I hardly ever have those kinds of things to think about. It's a rare thing to only have my own welfare on my mind. I envy her that.

"You're not even listening," she chuckles, straining to turn and look me in the eye, difficult to do at this angle, but enough so that I get a taste of raised eyebrow and full pursed lips.

"I am. I promise you," I sigh, letting my fingers lace with hers', and lifting her hand up and pressing the strong and steady beat of the pulse at her wrist to my lips. "I'm just trying to turn off, you know what I mean?"

"I'm so glad that my life is so boring then," she sighs, snuggling back into me, pulling my hand and my arm with it back across her chest.

"Do you ever just want to...not think? Do you know what I mean?" I ask, closing my eyes and willing my muscles to relax, to concentrate on the feeling of her body, warm and languid, against mine

"All the time," she replies cheerfully, "especially when I was in the hospital. That's why I'm always reading," she adds, reaching with her free hand for a thick tome perched precariously on the back of the sofa, as if she'd just left it when she came to the door to greet me, which is likely true. I vaguely remember noticing a similarly precariously balanced pile of books and magazines at the hospital and I know that she has a bookshelf that is so stuffed it practically groans in her bedroom.

"I wish I had time," I mumble, looking over her shoulder at all the words on the pages she's flipping through. I can hear Max in my head, decrying the lack of pictures. He prefers comics. I don't even remember ever owning one, but I do wish I had more time to read.

"Are you kidding? All the time you have on planes and in hotel rooms? Maybe instead of all those Friends episodes that you know off by heart, _Bing_," she laughs, nudging me in the ribs with a sharp elbow, "you could read...oh I don't know...Don Cherry's biography?"

"I think I'll leave that to Jordy," I groan, shaking my head as she puts the book down on the floor and leans back into my chest.

"I thought I read something about you feeling bad about not being able to get a college education," she muses, lacing her fingers with mine again and drawing them around her like a blanket.

"You've been reading about me now? You _must_ be desperate for something to do," I wince, thinking about all the articles there are out there about me, as if I'm someone important, as if my life is actually worth reading about.

"Don't evade the question Sidney Patrick Crosby," she laughs, turning to look up at me, one eye shut as if somehow that makes it easier for her to see me. "You could be taking courses you know? One or two at a time, probably one considering your schedule," she adds, relaxing back to her former position.

"I've thought about it," I reply honestly, "but things haven't exactly...mellowed out like we all thought it would after the first year and...I just haven't found the time to even decide what I'd like to take."

"Kind of like how you haven't had time to find your own house?" she teases, wiggling her way around until her big green eyes are looking up at me, her chin resting on the back of her hands in the middle of my chest. I can't help but think how adorable she looks with the dark coloured fuzz now covering her head and those full pink lips of hers' turning up at the corners as she gazes up at me.

"Yeah, kind of like that," I reply, feeling a new and strange tightening in my chest as I touch my fingertips to her cheek. "Do you...I mean...can we go to bed now?" I swallow the words I want to say to her. I don't know why but I'm just not ready to say them. Not yet.

Instead I say nothing as she uncoils herself from around me and holds her hand out to help me off of the couch. I look down at her frail fingers lying lightly across the palm of my hand and am suddenly filled with an overwhelming feeling of tenderness towards her and bone deep desire to protect her, keep her close and never let her go.

"What?" she asks, innocently looking up at me as I stand there, emotion making my throat constrict as I look into her unguarded face. I open my mouth, the words I want to say on the tip of my tongue and then I close it again, shaking my head at my own weakness.

"Nothing, just...tired," I lie, curling my hand around hers and pulling her close, wrapping my other arm around her shoulders as she tucks her head beneath mine. Closing my eyes, I savour the sensation of her body fitting so closely to mine, her warmth and the feel of her heart beating so close to mine. It feels so...right. "Thank you for just...letting me be here," I whisper, pressing my lips to the top of her head.

"Thank you for wanting to be here," she replies and I can hear the smile in her voice when she says it and that just makes my chest hurt.

Sliding my hand up to cup her chin, tipping it up so that I can capture her lips with mine, I kiss her the way she should be kissed, the way I should have kissed her the first time instead of what I did do. I kiss her softly, but thoroughly, with only lips and nothing more, even though the rest of my body goes up in flames when she kisses me back, softly, tenderly, almost curiously. With her cheek lying in my palm and her emerald eyes shining up at me, the words just spill out of my mouth. Nothing in the world could keep me from saying them now.

"I love you," I whisper, pressing my lips to the corner of one eye and then the other. "I love you and I want to make love to you right now."

She opens her full lips, but no words come out, only a single tear streaks over the curve of her cheek. I kiss it away, tasting the saltiness of it on my tongue before pressing my lips over hers once more, this time giving myself to the kiss, to her lips, her tongue, and the press of her soft body against mine.

* * *

Stretching my arm across the cool sheets, I find myself alone, his side of the bed empty, the sheets pulled up, the pillow where his head had been having already grown cold. Groaning, I open my eyes and look at the crisp white sheets where he had...where we had been curled up not so long ago if the light coming in through the blinds is anything to go by.

Feeling a pang of disappointment I roll over onto my back and close my eyes, recalling the way his body felt pressed against mine, feeling for the ache in my shoulder where his teeth had sunk in while he'd tried to fend off the orgasm, waiting to go with me, waiting until I was screaming his name to the night before he spilled himself inside of me and we fell, arms and legs tangled together, into the these same sheets.

Smiling to myself, I run my fingers down over the other little aches and pains, the bite mark on my thigh, the bruises on my hips that I know, when I see them in the mirror, will perfectly match the size and shape of each of his fingers.

Lifting the sheet over my head, I giggle at the memory of the wonder in his caramel coloured eyes, so close to mine as our bodies met, joined and separated again and again, as we whispered words of love to each other.

He loves me. Sidney Patrick Crosby loves me. It's like I guess Cinderella will go the ball after all. All must be right with the world.

At least for now, I tell myself, banishing the negative thoughts that threaten to creep in from the shadows in the corner of the room, their long dark tendrils and cool fingers reaching out to steal the warm, golden honey feeling of afterglow from me.

Tossing the bed sheets aside, I stretch my arms and legs and listen to the crack and pop of my joints, enjoying the deep ache in my bones, knowing for once that it's a good kind of ache, a deeply satisfied kind of ache. It would be better if I had him to roll over and cuddle up to but for now, I decide, this is a pretty damn good start to the day.

With a sigh that has more to do with not wanting to move my aching body than missing him, I pad barefoot to the bathroom, not bothering to look at my swollen lips or hickey covered neck, I reach into the shower and turn the water on hot. Stepping into the tub, I stand beneath the shower head, letting the water assault my skin, not even moving until I feel my skin actually begin to cook in the heat and the steam. Only then do I open my eyes again to reach for the shampoo, which is when I see the bruises around my wrist.

Blinking in surprise, I look down at my arm, cradling it in my other hand as I wrack my brain, trying to thinks where and when I could have hurt my arm. It wasn't like this yesterday, I'm almost certain, and yet I can't think when....

When he pinned my wrists above my head and made slow and tender love to me. Pinned my wrists so that I wouldn't urge him to thrust deeper, so that I wouldn't dig my nails into his shoulders, so that he could have control, so that he could go slow, make it last. I hadn't thought anything of it then, too caught up in the moment to care. Of course he wasn't to know either, there was no use blaming him, but as I begin to take stock of all the injuries, I remember vaguely the warnings from the nurses about special susceptibility to bleeding, to problems clotting, to bruises that will not heal.

Reaching for the tap, I find that despite the heat of the water still raining down on me, that I'm actually shivering. Stepping out of the tub, I reach for a towel, wrapping myself in it I slide to the floor, tears welling in my eyes.

Damn it.

Two minutes ago I was in seventh heaven. I hadn't felt this alive in..._weeks_, and now it all comes back to me. I'm sick. I'm probably even dying.

It's not fair. It's so not fucking fair.

"Randi? Babes? You up yet sleepy head?"

Cursing under my breath, I wipe at my eyes with the back of my hand while I struggle to my feet. He can't see me like this. He can't know. Not until after the series. I won't burden him with this, not until it won't affect his chances, won't affect everyone else on the team.

"Yeah in here," I call, pinching my cheeks lightly, willing the colour back into them while I reach for my old fuzzy robe, glad for once that it covers nearly everything. It might be far from sexy but practical as hell, especially now.

"There you are," he grins that boyish toothy grin as he rounds the corner into my room and reaches for me, his hands cupping my cheeks as he presses his lips tenderly to mine. I have to bite hard on the inside of my cheeks not to cry when he looks down at me like that, all happy, love glowing in his hazel eyes. Damn it. "I wasn't sure what you do for breakfast," he turns, reaching down to lace his fingers with mine as he leads me out of the room and down the hallway. "I kind of brought a bunch of things," he adds, motioning towards a number of plastic bags on the kitchen table. "I think there's some muffins in there, or bagels, and ummm....let'see...." He lets go of my hand and begins to go through the bags, pulling things out and setting some of them on the table and some he carries to the fridge.

"Coffee," I sigh, smiling encouragingly up at him when he looks at me over one of the bags, disappointment evident all over his face, "and cereal...I'm pretty sure I have some in the cupboard?" I feel terrible, all the effort and thought he's put into this obvious in all the bags in front of me as I slide into the furthest chair from him, putting the table between us like an obstacle, like a defensive wall.

"Good thing I bought milk," he mumbles, hiding from me as he ducks behind the fridge door. An apology springs to my lips but I don't give it voice as he searches through the cupboard for a bowl. I don't even give him directions, I just sit there, mutely watching him, watching his biceps curl as he lifts a bowl down, watching his pectorals strain against the thin fabric of his t-shirt as he reaches for the box of cereal. All I can think now is what a horrible, terrible, nasty, ungrateful bitch I am.

"I'm sorry," I finally manage to say as he puts the bowl in front of me, Alphabits floating in too much milk. He just shrugs and manages to make his full lips curl into a smile for me, though it looks like one of those 'we'll get 'em next time' kind of smiles he puts on for reporters when he's trying not to let on how badly he feels. My chest gets tight and I have to tear my gaze away from his or start crying again. I'm sorry for so much more than the all the trouble he's gone to over breakfast but I can't tell him that. Not now. Not yet anyway.

I listen to him putter around the kitchen, turning on the coffee maker, the sound of the seal being broken on a fresh can of coffee, the aroma of fresh coffee grounds filling the air. Normally that scent alone would be enough to make me feel better. Not today. Not this morning.

I hear the rustle of the plastic bag in the cereal box again, and then the scraping of a chair as he pulls one out beside me and I stare at the bowl he puts down on the table and at the spoon that he lies down beside it. Not at him. I'm too afraid of what he'll see in my eyes if I look at him.

"Give me your hand," he says quietly and I see his hand reach out, palm facing up and empty. I look up at him and only see Sidney, no judgement, no anger, no disappointment, only a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth and something secretive in his eyes.

"Why?" I ask, trying to decipher what's going on in his eyes but he just shakes his head and his smile grows wider.

"Just trust me," he sighs, wiggling his fingers in that 'gimme' sort of way. Reluctantly, I put my hand in his and watch as he turns my hand, palm up and then drops too pieces of cereal in my hand. I look down at them, and then back up at him, curious. He stares back at me, expectation in his face, so I look back down at the two seemingly innocuous letters.

M and C.

I'm not a stupid person, in general. I am, however, often slow on the uptake. Like right now.

I'm used to being called Randi. Everyone that is close to me, that loves me, calls me Randi. Only my boss and my doctors tend to call me by my given name. Miranda. Miranda De Luca.

I look back up at him, at the expectant look on his face, and the urge to run away, run into the bathroom and lock the door behind me is almost overwhelming. I look back down at the initials in my hand and then back up at him and feel the sting of tears as they fill my eyes.

"Sidney I...," he grins and leans forward, half standing so he can press his lips to my forehead.

"Just think about it," he says quietly, his gold flecked hazel eyes only centimetres from mine. "No pressure. I just...I love you so much it's retarded," he grins, mimicking the movie we'd watched the other night in the wee hours of the morning; Nick and Norah's Infinite Playlist, such a good movie.

I force myself to smile and accept a soft kiss from him before he digs into his cereal. I keep all of my arguments about why it will never happen and how he shouldn't love me at all to myself. I just watch him and think how beautiful he is, how the light coming through the kitchen window makes his hair look brown and not black. How his skin is almost translucent it's so pale and how much I want to...how much I do love him and how completely fucking unfair it all is.


	15. Chapter 15

_Sorry about the wait but this one took a while to write. Hope you like it. _

C15

"Crack open my skull?" I reach for Tish's hand and feel her fingers curl tightly around mine. Glancing over at her, I see her eyes are as wide as mine feel as she looks at the chart the neurosurgeon is showing us as he explains his plans for the resection of my brain tumour.

"Yes, we'd remove the front part of your skull and peel the skin forward so that we can get really good access to the area in question and...Miss De Luca, are you alright?" I've already got my head between my knees and my eyes shut tight against the spots of light that had started to dance in front of my eyes as he moves to the next slide showing a patient with her face peeled forward, her eyeballs exposed and staring, the meat behind her skin red and pulsating.

"Of course she's not fucking okay," I hear Tish snap and can imagine the irritated look on her face as she rubs my back in soothing circles, which while it is a bit calming does nothing to hold back the waves of nausea. "Would _you_ be okay if someone showed you that?"

"It really is best if she knows what to expect, what's going to happen. We find patients do much better if they know what to expect," he continues to explain but his voice falls away and I can guess very well why. I know the look. When TIsh goes from protective to full on mother bear, the look will silence a fully armed five star general with a row of tanks behind him.

"You don't have to do this," Tish whispers to me, her long fingers working at the tight muscle at the back of my neck. "There's that experimental drug therapy or that radiosurgery thing that the other surgeon was suggesting," she continues and I can hear how hard she's trying to cover up her own panic and fear as her voice pitches higher. "You don't have to decide right now."

"I do," I mumble, forcing myself to take deep breaths, to force my breakfast back into my stomach before I straighten up again, looking up into the patient face of the surgeon. Taking one more deep breath to settle my nerves I force myself to ask the question. "Is this my best chance?"

"I think so," he says resolutely, confidently, without so much as a blink or a twitch. "I think this will give you the best chance to fight with more aggressive radiation and chemo and probably a couple more surgeries, yes." Nodding I look back at the slide that is still up on the screen, forcing myself to take a long hard look at it.

"Will I...will I look the same after?" I ask, imagining my face being peeled away and visions of Joan Rivers and Michael Jackson botched plastic surgeries swimming around in my head.

"We'll have the top plastics guy on standby and when we're done, you won't know the difference. I promise. "

"And...and the chances I won't make it through the surgery?" I ask, my voice sounding stronger than I actually feel. I look into the surgeon's eyes, daring him to lie to me but he doesn't even blink as he shrugs his shoulders before reaching over to shut off the overhead projector he's been using to go through the surgery with us.

"I'm not going to sugar coat this. With every surgery there are risks, every time we put a patient under anaesthesia, there's a risk. But this is the frontal lobe, so there's less risk than there would be if we were working on a different area. I'm not saying there's no risk," he adds quickly, glancing over to Tish and then back at me with his serious doctor's face, "but less. There can be bleeding and that can be a problem when you've been on chemo, as you've experienced," he says, glancing down at my arms which I quickly pull up into my sweater. "Clots can be an issue," he adds, turning his attention to his notes before closing his binder and looking across at me with that serious sort of 'this is just you and me now' look on his face, "and in your generally weakened state, just putting you under and bringing you out again is risky, but still, I think this is the best chance we can offer you."

I feel Tish's grip tighten around my hand. My best chance, I grasp onto those three words, and nod my head.

"Let's do this then. When can we get started?" I hear Tish's sharp intake of breath, a warning or just surprise? I don't know, but I only have eyes for the surgeon as he taps his pen against the desk.

"I can book an O.R. for tomorrow," he smiles brightly, like I've just handed him a big fat cheque, which I guess, in a way, I have.

"After the game," I add as a rider, which makes him smile.

"Agreed. Game six. Should be exciting, either way," he grins, holding his hand out to me, as if we've just agreed on some kind of business deal.

"There is no either way," I reply, feeling confident. After all, Sidney had made a promise. "They're going to win."

"Good. Then you'll be in a positive frame of mind. That's good. But no beers during the game okay girls?" he grins, shaking my hand and smiling broadly at Tish before making a swaggering exit. I watch him go before turning to Tish.

"Did he just call us girls?"

"Ugh, I don't get mad at that anymore," Tish sighs, shrugging as he pushes me towards the door. "I'm just glad when they don't call me m'am. I hate m'am."

* * *

"Did you leave these for me?" I ask, holding what probably amounts to the two most prized possessions in Pittsburgh tonight in my hand, watching my fingers shake as I do.

"_You're coming right? I want you to be there_," he replies quietly, like he's trying to keep his voice down, like he's worried about being overheard, which considering he's still probably at the rink after morning skate, is likely.

"I don't know. I don't know if it's a good idea," I sigh, my chest aching at the thought of turning down tickets to the game tonight. Part of me so wants to be there to cheer him on and part of me knows I should be resting and besides that, the last place I need to be is in a crowd of several thousand people carrying who knows what kind of flu bugs. If I have so much as a mild grade fever tonight they won't be able to do the surgery.

"_Please Randi. I want you to be there, like my good luck charm. Besides, when we win, we'll have to pretty much leave right after the game and...I want to see you_," he adds, and I can hardly resist the sound of the smile in his voice.

"I like how you said _when_ we win," I smile, fanning the two tickets out and then putting them down again. "I want to see you too," I add, sighing as I fight the two opposing answers that are on the tip of my tongue.

"_Well I'm glad to hear that at least_," he says, his voice gaining in strength and sounding like he's walking now. I can hear the other voices in the background fading away. "_I have to see you before we leave. We have to talk about the other day. You've hardly spoken to me since_." He says, pitching his voice lower again, as if he's walking past people who might overhear the conversation.

"I've had appointments. I told you about those," I reply quickly, feeling that tightness in my chest again. Sure, I told him I had some doctor's appointments, just not what they were about or why.

"_Yeah but...you haven't said anything about...you know, what we talked about_," he mutters, almost under his breath and quiet enough that I have to stick a finger in my other ear to block out the white noise from the street outside.

Right...that. Whether I've actually been too busy to think about it or I've just sort of pushed it to the back of my mind, he's right. I haven't really thought about it at all.

"We didn't talk. _You_ did and don't you think you have enough to worry about without talking about...stuff like that now?" It's my turn to mutter, my voice trailing off to a whisper and not because there's anyone to over hear me, but just because I don't really know what to say.

"_So that's not a definite no then_?" he asks, sounding more chipper about it than I might have expected.

"Just worry about what you have to worry about and let me worry about what I need to worry about and then...we can talk about hat other stuff later. Deal?" I ask, hoping I can put it off until I have to tell him about the tumour...and then he probably won't be so quick to bring up that kind of stuff again.

"_I guess_," he sighs and I hear the sound of a car door closing and then it gets really quiet and I know that he's finally on his own. "_But you will come tonight? Please_?"

I open my mouth to say no, to tell him again that I can't but...then I just shrug and roll my eyes. How can I so no when I can picture him there, in his Land Rover with this tired but hopeful look on his face, his hair still wet from the showers and dripping into his hazel eyes, knowing he's going to go home, to bed, alone, and think of me? What girl could possibly say no to that?

"Okay, fine. I'll be there but...I have to go pretty quick after. I have...I have this appointment in the morning and...."

"_Good. I'll see you there. You'll bring Tish_?" he asks, making me wonder if Jordy had anything to do with the sacrificed a pair of seats.

"I expect so," I reply, knowing that there isn't anyone else I could take to a game that would put up with my cursing and yelling and loud insults of the other team. Except maybe Conner and he'll be working tonight.

"_Good. See you after the game then_." I can hear the grin in his voice and just the way it makes his voice sound makes my entire body shiver, in a good way.

"Good luck Sidney," I whisper, wondering why there are tears suddenly in my eyes and why it's so hard to even say that much, my throat tightening as I force the words out.

"_Don't need it, but thanks. Love you Rand, see you soon_," he adds, that grin in his voice making me feel happy and horrible all at once.

"Yeah, see you later," I reply, hanging up the phone before I let the words slip that I won't be able to take back.

I said them before, but that was in the heat of love making and I've decided that those don't count. But I can't say them again. Or at least I won't, not until I know that I'm better; or at least getting better. Because then if I don't say it he can't hate me; at least not that much.

At least that's what I keep telling myself.

* * *

"You know, if I wasn't dating his teammate, I'd be _so_ hating on you right now," Tish says, digging her elbow into my ribs. I glance over at her from beneath the bangs of the wig I'm wearing, which is serving two purposes, one to keep my head warm and the other to spare me from the stares. "What?" she laughs, "look at him being all broody and handsome out there and you've got his hickeys on your neck."

"There you go again, using the d word," I reply, arching my eyebrow at her, ignoring her comments and tossing that barb back in her direction and enjoying her discomfort as she scrunches her nose up at me and shakes her head.

"Ouch, damn," she laughs, turning her attention back out to the bench where Jordy is leaning on his stick, looking pale and winded. One thing is for certain, after the game tonight, there won't be anybody who will be able to say they didn't give it their all. Especially Fleury. I was beginning to wonder if he was going to be carried off the ice like a hero. He was certainly playing like one, which made up for the other night. Not that that had been his fault. "Hey at least my boy scored," Tish grins at me, as if somehow that makes us even.

"Your boy doesn't have Zetterberg draped over him like a wet towel," I sigh, recognizing the dark look of frustration on Sidney's face. "It's a damn good thing that Scudz, Tanger and Gonch are lights out though," I add, glancing down the ice to see at least one of their grim yet determined faces lining up on the blue line. The directional energy had changed hands several times during the game already, and it seems as if everyone in the Igloo is sitting at the edge of their seats, hoping, praying that the Pens can hold off another Wing rush.

"Don't chew your nails," Tish warns, reaching over to pry my thumb away from my mouth.

"Can't help it," I reply quietly, "I hate this leading by one goal thing, even if TK's goal was a nice one. Just...it doesn't seem like enough against the Wings, you know?" I spare a glance for the tall, good looking Wings defenseman with the van dyke, knowing he has a rocket for a shot and has sunk the Pens hopes twice in this series.

"And I used to actually like Zetterberg," TIsh sighs, wrapping her long fingers around mine as we watch the play, both of us hoping just as hard as everyone else in the building is, none of the players will make a mistake, cough up the puck, make a stupid pass or forget their man. It's a helpless feeling, watching the time clock, knowing how long a few seconds can drag out for.

I can only imagine how hard it is to actually be out on the ice, or worse, watching from the bench.

It's almost too hard to watch, I end up watching the last few seconds through my fingers, like a little kid watching a horror movie, but the ref finally blows his whistle and the buzzer sounds and a deafening roar goes up around the arena. Everyone's on their feet, Tish and I included; hugging and jumping up and down, squealing and laughing.

Then everything goes blank.

At first I think low blood sugar, or even that my wig has fallen down over my face. It isn't until Tish starts to tug on my hand, pulling me into the aisle, eager to get downstairs to our men, that I realize that neither of those things have happened.

Frantically feeling around with my free hand, I can feel my wig securely on the top of my head where it should be, and I don't feel any of the light headed dizziness I should if all I needed was a cracker or something.

That's when panic sets in.

"Tish," I pull on her arm, feeling the sea of humanity pressing behind me but I doggedly refuse to move, terrified I'll fall down the cement stairs or go ass over teakettle over the back of one of the seats and break my neck. "Tish!" I yell, pulling now with both of my hands until I feel her arm go slack in my hands, my only cue that she's stopped.

"What?!" she snaps and I can imagine all too well the wall of bodies coming towards us but my immediate fear of falling is worse than my fear of being trampled, at least for now.

"I can't see," I explain, blinking my eyes, feeling my eyelids move, but still only seeing utter and impenetrable darkness in front of me.

"I know you don't like crowds Randi but shit, c'mon, if you'd move a little faster we could have beat half of this crowd," she snarls, giving me another tug, but I don't move. I just stand there, staring at where I hear her voice and shaking my head.

"No, you don't get it. I can't see..._anything_," I yell back at her, holding my own hand in front of my face and letting her see the panic that my hammering heart already feels.

"What do you...you can't...shit!" Tish's voice falls away and then I feel her arms sliding around me, pulling me to her. "Nothing?" she whispers, her breath making my hair move against my cheek.

"Nothing...at all," I reply, letting her hold me, feeling bodies moving around us, hearing the raised celebratory voices mixed with the nasty comments and barbs aimed at us, but we both ignore those. "They said it might happen," I begin but feel Tish's arms tighten around me.

"It might pass," she adds as I feel her hands digging into my shoulders and I imagine her peering into my face, watching my pupils, looking for movement. "They said it might come and go."

"But it's gone Tish, just...and Sidney...he can't know," I hiss, panic piling upon panic, making it almost impossible to breathe. "They can't know...he can't go to Detroit worried about this." I want her to say something encouraging, something that will make it easier for me to breathe, to think, to make my heart beat slow down, but though I can practically feel the wheels turning in her head, she remains silent for what seems like ages, and then, just like that, I feel her hand curl around mine.

"We took acting classes. C'mon, we'll make this work for now, but when he comes back Randi...."

"I'll tell him when they get back I promise. I just don't want him worried about me, not now," I explain, though I know I don't have to explain it to my best friend.

"Yeah, yeah, just...c'mon, let's get this over with."

* * *

"There you are." I know he'll be reaching for my hand so I hold mine out towards him, hoping he'll take it without noticing that I'm holding it unnaturally or that I'm trying to look in his direction but may not have the angle quite right. I can feel Tish's hands on my shoulder blades, directing me, but I know the smile on my lips is forced, that I'm trying to look happy for him even though what I want to do is burst into tears and fall into his arms, to have him comfort me. I feel his breath warm on my cheek and turn into his kiss. "I wish I could do more," he whispers, his soft lips tickling the shell of my ear, sending shivers down my spine, "but there's so my people around," he explains, his voice husky as he kisses my cheek again. I try to smile brightly, blinking away the tears that want to fall as I look up, trying to match my gaze to the direction of his voice. "Do you want to come in? Meet the guys?" he asks, and I glance towards the source of much of the noise behind him, imagining those barn doors with the Pens logo on them, the ones you see on the TV all the time, the ones he stands outside of taping his stick, the ones that Max and Fleur do their little dance just inside of.

I want to go inside. I've imagined it so many times, especially since meeting him. I've pictured the look on his face as he introduces me to his teammates. I've rehearsed little things I would say to Max, to Fleury, to Tanger and some of the others and I can feel Tish behind me, practically vibrating with barely checked excitement. I know she'll get to see Jordan one way or the other, but I know she'd love to go inside that room too.

But then I think of all the possible obstacles in that room, rolls of tape and shed equipment littering the floor, bodies, both players and press, packed tightly together and then of course there's the logo on the floor. The sacred logo that you have to avoid stepping on, that you have to walk around, and I won't be able to see any of it.

"Maybe another time," I begin, reaching up to cup his cheek, feeling the sharp line of his cheekbone against the palm of my hand. "I'm sure there's way too many people in there for me to meet everyone properly right now. Maybe at the parade," I suggest, grinning when he sucks in a sharp breath between his teeth. "Don't make that face," I grin, running my fingertips down his cheek until I can feel his full, soft lips beneath my fingertips. "I can say it. I'm not a player." I feel his lips press softly against my fingertips and then his hand closes around mine, his long fingers squeezing mine tightly.

"I'll let you get away with that I guess," he laughs, that high, happy, childish sound making my own grin widen. "Can you come to Detroit?" he asks suddenly and I know my grin disappears immediately, and I don't need to see his face to know that his hazel eyes are looking at me with hopeful expectation that I'm going to have to shatter.

"I have this thing at the hospital early tomorrow," I explain, shrugging and hoping that the anxiety I've been feeling all day isn't showing, forcing myself to show him at least a half hearted smile.

"But you could come after, I could get you a ticket," he promises, sounding eager and I can imagine the way the gold flecks in his eyes are dancing as he searches my face and I wonder how he can possibly not see my blank stare.

"Planes," I shrug, shaking my head, "re-circulating germs and stuff...we'll watch the game from here, right Tish?" I glance back over my shoulder, knowing she's still there from her soft, reassuring touch at the small of my back.

"She's right, this was bad enough," Tish pipes up and I can see her in my mind's eye, rolling her eyes as she looks around at the crush of humanity, wrinkling her nose at the musty smell permeating the hall. "This is so not the environment for our girl. I need to get her home to her purified air filter, ozone machine, pollen-filtered bedroom. You both need your rest, am I right? Now say good night Romeo while I find Jordy." Her arm snakes around my waist, giving me a quick squeeze as her hip bumps mine and then I hear her heels clicking against the pavement as she dives into the press of bodies around us. I reach for Sidney and his arm takes her place as we're jostled closer together by a passing equipment manager who calls a friendly greeting to Sidney and admonishes us about standing in the middle of the hallway.

"I wish you were coming," Sid whispers against my cheek as his strong arms wrap around me, pulling me against the solid width of his chest. Reaching out, I lay my hand over his heart, feeling its reassuringly steady rhythm against the palm of my hand, the heat of his skin still slick with sweat. I breathe in the manly smell of healthy exertion mixed with the funk of unwashed equipment and smile at the comfort I draw from the exotic perfume.

"Me too," I reply honestly, laying my cheek against the round, hard muscle of his shoulder. "But I'm so proud of you. You're going to do amazing. I just know it," I add, feeling his lips press against my temple.

"If...if it happens, I will bring you the cup babe," he whispers, and I know full well how hard it is for him to say it, especially now that it's so close. All of the superstitions that he lives with tell him not to say it, not to even think it, so I appreciate the gesture all the more.

"I'll hold you to that," I turn and smile up at him, wishing he could kiss me now, knowing that he doesn't dare. Not here. Not in front of all these people. "I'll see you in a couple days," I add, aiming my lips towards his cheek, knowing all he can afford are seemingly chaste fraternal gestures even as his grip tightens around my waist, his lower body offering other expressions and none of the remotely innocent.

"I hate not being able to say goodbye to you properly," he groans, his forehead pressing against mine, sweat dripping from his hair into mine, but I couldn't care less.

"Then don't say goodbye," I grin, walking my fingertips up his chest to his neck, feeling his carotid pulse quick and strong as I wrap my fingers around the back of his neck. "Adieu, mon amour."

"Je tu veux tellement qu'il blesse," he moans under his breath, as my lips brush his cheek.

"Plus tard," I sigh, loosening my grip and letting my hands fall away from his heated skin. "Ayez une peu de patience."

"I have none around you," he admits with a heavy sigh, grabbing my hand in his and squeezing it hard enough that I want to wince but don't. "Randi I...," his voice trails away as I feel a hand drop onto my shoulder. "I'll see you soon," he mutters, letting my hand go.

"Sorry love birds," Tish sighs dramatically, "but I've got to get this one into bed. Good luck Sid, break a leg," she chirps brightly as she gently tugs me backward toward her.

"Don't say that, he's not an actor, shit. Thanks, that's just great." I turn towards the sound of the voice, looking up at where Jordan should be standing behind Tish.

"Yeah T. Well, I guess we'll know who to blame if Zetterberg trips him on a breakaway," I chuckle, shaking my head at her.

"Fuck! Don't say that either," Jordan moans, his voice fading into the crowd and I realize he must be leading Sidney away. I let out a little whimper but Tish either ignores it or doesn't hear it as she turns me, both hands on my shoulders as she marches me away from the dressing room, using me as a battering ram as we move through the crowd.

"I hardly got to say goodbye," I complain to which Tish only grumbles and keeps pushing.

"And I only got about thirty seconds with J-boy but people were starting to ask questions about you two so I had to break it up. Sorry Rand but just think of it this way. In a couple days, when you're feeling better and they've fixed this stupid thing in your head, he'll be all yours, with nothing to distract him, okay?" she offers, her lips close to my ear as she steers me through the crowds that press close to us. I'm sure no one is listening or paying attention to us but I keep my voice low anyway.

"It's a deal," I sigh, thinking about what it might be like to have him all to myself, without him having to be somewhere, to have to leave, to have a schedule to keep. "I guess I better get better than huh?" I call over my shoulder as she manoeuvres around me to push open a door, a blast of cool, early evening air chasing away the close, warm, funk filled air of the hallway.

"Yes, you'd better. Now let's go get that brain of yours fixed."


	16. Chapter 16

C16

"You don't have to do that," Tish mumbles, crossing her arms defensively and staring daggers at the paperwork on the table in front of me. The RN standing beside the bed fussing with the I.V.'s glances over at Tish and then down at me, pursing her lips like she disapproves too. Still....

"I don't want to be like dad. You know that," I reply calmly, pressing the pen to the paper and signing at all the highlighted lines. "I don't want to be a veg Tish. That's all I'm asking."

"Yeah but...can't you just leave that up to me? Or Con?" she asks, her voice getting high and shrill as I get to the last page, turning all of the documents over and stacking them neatly in a pile.

"Because," I say quietly, capping the pen and handing the paperwork over to the waiting hospital office lackey, "you guys think of everything emotionally. I don't want to plugged in Tish and I don't want Con to do what I had to do. I don't want him to have to unplug me."

"I don't even know why you're doing this. You're going to be fine. I mean, your sigh came back right? I told you that you were going to be fine. I don't know why you have to get so dramatic about it." Tish adds, grabbing the end of the sheets and tucking them under the mattress pad, just to give herself something to do.

"Why don't you go to work? You heard what the doctor said. It's going to be hours. You don't need to sit around watching me. Come by after work and we can watch the game together," I offer, offering her a smile as she stands at the end of the bed, staring at me with that look, the one that says she'd like to just wring my neck but doesn't want to go to jail for it.

"I think I should probably stay right here. I mean who knows what else you're going to sign away next. I mean, what if I'm not here? Are you going to give the jersey he gave you to one of the nurses or something?" she asks, the corner of her lip turning up, just a smidgeon, but enough so that I know she's not really that mad at me.

"Would you kill me if I said you should give it to some kid on the cancer ward?" I ask, watching her lips thin out and her eyes narrow until all you see are eyelashes. "Okay, okay, it's yours. Whatever makes you go away."

"Fine, I'll go. But I will be back to watch the game with you, so you better not doing anything stupid okay?" she asks, walking over to the side of the bed and leaning in to press her lips to my forehead.

"What am I going to do? Move during the surgery and have them cut my brain in half? They're going to paralyze me Tish, remember?"

"I remember," she replies, shuddering. "Be good. I'll be back later. I love you."

"I love you more," I grin up at her, sharing a secret, sisterly sort of a smile before she turns to go, her heels clicking on the linoleum floor, her long black hair swaying across her back. She pauses in the doorway, and turns to wink, before sashaying out into the hallway and past a line of interns who all turn to watch her go.

Shaking my head, I laugh and spare Jordan a sympathetic thought. He certainly has his hands full. I hope he knows it.

Then I lay my head back on the pillows and close my eyes, reaching up to massage away the throbbing at my temples. My sight might have come back, but so did this horrible headache. I can't wait for it to be gone.

* * *

"What is that?" Max asks, grabbing the small box out of my hand and flipping it open. I watch the expression on his face and wait for him to turn his dark brown eyes on me. "What's this? You're serious? You're going to ask that sick chick to marry you?" He asks, closing the box with an audible click before tossing it back to me, shaking his head. "Crazy. Tu es fou. That's all I have to say."

I turn the small box over in my hand, making sure it's one piece I guess, and then put it back in my bag. Yeah, I'm gonna ask that girl to marry me. I never believed it before, when people would say you just know, but I've had that moment now and I'm not about to let her get away from me.

"Are you sure about that?"

I look up to see Jordy towering over me, staring down at me with his clear blue eyes. He looks nervous, but then I guess we're all nervous right now. Fortunately I have thoughts of Randi to distract me.

"Yeah, I am, why?" I ask, zipping my bag closed and reaching for my jersey, pulling it off the hook and over my head.

"She's just...you know, still sick and...you know, you don't know what's going to happen," he says quietly, leaning on his stick and looking down at me with what looks like real concern on his face.

"But we'll get through it together. It's kind of romantic, don't you think?" I grin up at him but the big blonde giant only shrugs his massive shoulders.

"I don't know man. I guess maybe I don't I have that commitment gene or something, but I don't think you need to jump into anything so quick," he adds, shaking one of his gloves off and staring into it, like he expects a rabbit to pop out of it or something, and knowing Jordy, there's a pretty good chance something will pop out but it's probably going to be some kind of toxic ooze monster.

"I thought you and Rand's friend Tish were getting pretty serious," I point out to him, to which his only reply is to shrug those wide shoulders of his again.

"Yeah but I mean, we've barely agreed that we're dating and not just fucking. It's not quite the same as...as _that_," he replies, nudging my bag with the blade of his stick.

"Yeah well...you know me. When I want something, I go for it," I shrug, pushing myself up to my feet, grabbing my stick and a roll of hockey tape intending to head out to the hallway for my pre-game ritual. "What can I say? I'm a romantic. I just didn't know it until now." Gronk shakes his head and all I can do is shrug at him. How else can I explain it? "I do love the girl Jay."

"I know you think you do it's just...you don't really know here you know? You have the whole summer to get to know her before you need to pop that on her," Jordy glances meaningfully back at my bag and then at Flower who's been sitting silently beside us this entire time, saying nothing. "Tell him Fleur. Tell him he's rushing into this. How long have you known Vero?"

"But that's different," Marc shrugs, making all of his gear move, his pads creaking on his shoulders as he looks up at both of us. "That's me. He's him. It's not the same."

"You can be so French sometimes, you know that?" Jordan growls, shaking his head but smiling the whole time; it's pretty impossible to be mad at MAF.

"He loves her, c'est tout," Flower shrugs again and smiles up at me, his dark eyes full of this dazed, dreamy look. So him.

"Yeah Gronk, c'est tout," I grin over at him, to which he only rolls his blue eyes and shakes his head, turning towards the center of the room for his pre-game ritual, stretching and bouncing on his long legs, forcing the blood to course through his long limbs.

With a thankful smile towards Fleur, I take my stick and my tape and head out into the hall. It's time to get my mind on the task at hand and off of Randi. I can think about her again later, on our way home, with the Cup.

Shit...did I really just think that? Shaking my head, I laugh at myself and hope that it's a good omen.

Just like meeting Randi was. Everything has gone so much better since then. She was my good omen and pretty soon I'll take my turn at being her good luck charm, and then we'll have our happy ever after.

After this one last game.

* * *

"There was some significant bleeding," the surgeon explains, his voice sounding like it's coming from somewhere at the end of a wind tunnel. "We removed a sizeable thrombus, so we're going to keep her in ICU and monitor her closely."

"A clot?" Tish asks, her voice sounding tired and strained.

"It's not unusual with this kind of surgery. It's just something to keep an eye on."

"But you said something like that could be detrimental, could cause...could cause...," her voice trails away as she refused to give voice to the rest of her question.

"You're talking like I'm not here," I mumble, blinking into the light, trying to focus on the two fuzzy figures standing at the end of the hospital bed. "Blood clots can travel to the heart or lungs or cause an obstruction in the brain, causing infarcts, cutting off the blood supply, causing a stroke or paralysis. Do I get a sticker?" I ask,amazed at how weak my own voice sounds.

"You've done your research," the doctor chuckles, appearing on my right side, glancing up at the beeping machine measuring my heart or is it my brain waves? Either way, he also presses his fingers to my neck and then smiles down at me. "You did very well. We're just gonna keep an eye on you up here for a day or two and then you should be able to go home and we can start on some of those treatments we talked about," he says, sounding confident as he pats my hand and then turns back to Tish. "You've got all the information. You see any of those things...."

"I hit the big button and call for help. Will do," Tish nods, sitting on the opposite side of the bed and folding my hand between hers'. "Gotcha."

"Is the game on?" I ask, blinking up at the monitor and then back at Tish. "I haven't missed anything have I?"

"No," she grins down at me, but I can see the concern in her eyes that she's not hiding very well. "Not yet. I was just about to put it on. Doctor Goldwein promised you'd come around just in time for the pre-game warm up. I told him you'd be pissed if you missed it and I was beginning to worry, you've been in and out all day, swearing at the nurses, muttering in your sleep...."

"Muttering?" I grimace, trying to push myself up into a seated position and wincing when it feels like someone's trying to pull my head off.

"Easy Tiger, not everyone could tell you were talking about the star of the show tonight," Tish beams down at me like she's happy to see me and hasn't seen me in weeks, which makes me wonder exactly how close they came to losing me during the surgery, which is why I let her fuss with the pillows and help me get comfortable. It also lets me watch her more closely, lets me see the heavy dark circles around her eyes that she's tried to hide with foundation and powder. The only other evidence I need now is....

"How are you? How was work?" I ask, innocently, turning my attention to the TV where the Wings are just taking the ice for the warm up.

"Fine, everything's fine," she replies too quickly.

And there it is. That's all the evidence I need to know how lucky I am to be awake. If there's one thing I know about Tish it's that she only ever says that when she's not fine.

"T, do I need to know...."

"Oh look, there's Jordy. Oh god, he looks like he's gonna puke. Oh poor baby," she gushes, but the determined set of her jaw tells me she's not interested in talking about my surgery. Not for now at least. So with a sigh, I settle into the pillows and reach out to hold her hand while I concentrate on screen in front of me, sending good vibes out to our boys.

* * *

"Fuck! Fuck! Fucking shit! Cock, balls, shit, fuck!" I pound my fist against the edge of the trainer's table, which is nicer than the one back in the Burgh, but doesn't do anything towards making me feel any better as Chris, our trainer, pokes the area of my thigh that is currently on fire. "Fuck Franzen. Asshole. Shit, fuck, damn."

"Chill out Crosby," Chris admonishes me, glancing up at me with his steely blue gaze. "I can't tell if it hurts or if you're just pissed off."

"Both!" I growl, wincing when he prods the red and now swelling area above my knee. "Fuck! Do something. I need to get back out there."

"If you've torn your MCL...," he begins, but I shake my head, wincing again.

"No, it didn't pop or anything it just fucking hurts," I moan as he leans into the area, trying to massage it out as if it's a cramp. "Ow, shit, ow."

"I'm trying to see if you tore it or...."

"I said it didn't pop or snap, it just fucking hurts," I hiss through my teeth, staring down at the offending leg. "Hurts...shit...ow!" I slap his hand away, which I know isn't going to help in the least but it makes me feel better for the moment.

"You probably just bruised it then," Chris says, pushing his chair back and pushing himself to his feet so he can tower over me, looking less than amused. "Try walking."

"It hurts," I point out, looking down at the floor and then up at him.

"Well if you can walk, then you can skate. If you can't walk...," he lets his voice trail off as he shrugs. He doesn't need to tell me the rest. I know all too well from all of the groin injuries I've suffered over the years. If you can stand and walk, if you can walk without making a face, then the trainer will let you skate. I know the drill.

Taking a deep breath, I force myself to my feet. Well my foot. Then I gingerly put the other foot down and take a few, halting, steps forward. It hurts. It hurts like hell.

"Can we freeze it or something?" I ask, looking up hopefully at Chris, who shrugs and turns to his medical kit.

"Do you know how hard it is to skate if you can't feel your quads Crosby?" he asks, preparing a syringe, which, in and of itself, makes me wince.

"I have to try," I shrug, sliding back onto the treatment table. "It's game seven. I have to try."


	17. Chapter 17

_For Bunny, because she never had time to fight and because sometimes, no matter what the doctors say, God has other ideas._

C17

"I don't get it," Jordy stares down at his phone, consternation clear on his face.

"What's that?" I ask, leaning across the aisle, one hand still on The Cup, safely buckled into the seat next to me.

"Tish...I don't know how many times I've texted her, called her, nothing. No answer. Like she's got her phone turned off or something," he sighs, hitting the speed dial again, only to watch it go straight to voice mail.

"Don't worry about it. She's probably with Randi," I grin over at him, thinking about the look on her face, how her emerald green eyes will light up when she sees me walk into the room with The Cup. "They probably watched the game together at the bar. She probably can't hear her phone over the celebrations."

"Yeah, I guess," Jordy shrugs, still staring down at his phone as if, by sheer will, he'll make a reply appear on the screen. "I just thought...I mean….I just assumed she'd at least go out into the parking lot to call me, you know, say congratulations or something." He looks up at me, as if looking for guidance. As if I have any. As if there's anything going on inside my head beside this little voice that keeps saying 'you did it' and the vision of the Crazy Frog dance. Aside from that, I'm a little empty, or full of champagne. Either way, I'm neither use nor ornament.

"She probably knew you'd be busy, or on the phone with your brothers. Don't worry about it. We'll be landing soon and then you can pour champagne in her cup, if you know what I mean," I grin, raising my eyebrow to him until he gives in and grins back. "C'mon man. We're the fucking Stanley Cup Champions. This is the best fucking day of your fucking life. Don't worry about shit like that now."

"You're right. Fuck. I don't know what I'm thinking. I guess I'm a little drunk huh?" he hiccups, reaching for the bottle of what I'm sure by now must be warm and by now flat champagne, and upends it into his mouth.

"A little? Dude you're shitfaced," I laugh, shaking my head as he pours half of the champagne down his shirt, the same shirt we're all wearing. Stanley Cup champions t-shirts.

"Me? Look at him," he points the bottle towards Fleur who's passed out, lying across two seats, snoring peacefully, his arms wrapped around Vero. Just seeing the look of peaceful bliss on his face makes me wish the plane could go faster. I can't wait to see the look on Randi's face. I can't wait to put The Cup in her arms. Hell, I can't wait to be in her arms. That will just make everything complete, like the cherry on top of a perfect day.

* * *

"What do you mean she's not here?" I yell over the noise of the music and the crowd, staring at her brother who looks about as happy as we've been looking for the last few hours.

"She's at the hospital," Conner yells back at me, holding a bottle of champagne out towards me, but I shake my head. I'm not here for champagne. I'm here for Randi.

"What do you mean she's at the hospital? Did something happen?" I ask, feeling angry now. My leg is suddenly aching again and I haven't even thought about that since the clock counted down and we won the game.

"She had a tumor removed. She didn't want you to worry about it, but she's fine. I was just there before the third period. She wouldn't even talk to me, she was too busy watching the game," he laughs, offering the bottle to me again, but again, I only shake it off. "Go on, take it. She wanted to make sure I put a bottle of the good stuff on ice for you guys, on the house, of course."

"C'mon Creature. The man says she's fine," Max laughs, taking the bottle and giving it a good shake. "Have a damn drink. The people want to drink from The Cup, you can't disappoint them."

"She's fine?" I ask, turning back to Conner who nods and smiles, holding another chilled bottle towards me.

"She's good. The doctor told me himself. Stay, have a drink or two. She's probably asleep by now anyway," he adds, forcing the bottle into my hand. "She wanted you to have a drink in the bar like Mario did and you don't want to disappoint my sister, do you?"

Glancing over at Jordy and Max's hopeful faces, all I can do is shrug.

"If it's what Randi wanted…I guess we'll stay for a drink," I sigh, giving in to their eager faces, or maybe it's the beer pressure. "But just one, and then we go to the hospital, okay Jordy?"

"Done man. One drink, I promise," he replies, holding his hand up as if he was some kind of Boy Scout. As if he'd ever been a Boy Scout.

* * *

"Tish?" I reach out, for her hand, feeling her warm fingers curl around mine. She's still watching the screen, watching the highlights over and over, switching from one news channel to the next; watching Jordan raise the cup above his head. I want to watch with her but I'm so tired. Of course I'm proud, so _very_ proud of him, but I'm also just so tired. It was hard to stay awake through the whole game. "These meds...they make me sleepy," I sigh, feeling her long body curl protectively around mine. It's good of the nurses to let her stay even though it's hours past visiting time.

"Do you want me to ask them to dial it back, just until they get here?" she asks, her face suddenly hovering near mine, as if I didn't know she was there. I smile, I think. At least it feels like my lips turn upwards. I think I've been smiling all night. Well, at least since the last second of the game. Until then, I could hardly breathe, and that had nothing to do with the pain.

"No, but...wake me up, if they come," I hear myself whisper as the room goes fuzzy around me again. It's been doing that a lot today. As if it's less real and the dream world I've been escaping too is becoming more solid.

Of course that means that the ghosts are getting more solid too; Grandma and Grandpa, sitting right over there by the door, waiting. I know what it means. I'm just not ready. Not yet.

"What do you mean if?" Tish gives me a little poke in the ribs. She's been doing that a lot, to keep me awake, keep me present. "They're coming. Do you honestly think they won't come straight here, just like Sid promised?"

"I don't know," I mumble, feeling sleep pulling me under again. Dragging me back to where the pain disappears. I thought the doctor said the head ache would go away. "He's got so much to do. Partying, interviews...," I smile to myself, thinking again about how happy he looked holding the cup up over his head; so happy and so handsome.

"He'll come," Tish pokes my ribs again, but this time I know it's not going to work. I can't stay awake. I'm too tired. "He'll come. He promised."

I think I nod. At least I mean to nod. It hurts too much to actually move my head. I keep thinking I should mention it to someone, but then I think I'm just being a big baby. There's a few staples in my head of course it hurts.

All I have to do is just keep thinking about how happy he was and how he winked into the camera and blew a kiss. For me, just like he said he would, and it just seems impossible to concentrate on the ache in my head when I think about his crooked, toothy grin....

* * *

"This way, this way," I insist as Jordan looks towards the nurses's station, laughing as I skid around the corner of the dimly lit corridor, the Cup held safely in my hands out in front of me. For some reason I'm not worried about dropping it, or even falling on it. It just can't happen. Not today.

And I'm not even worried about being stopped. Who would stop us? We're the fucking Stanley Cup Champions. No one in Pittsburgh can say no to us. Not tonight.

We've already sprayed champagne out of the window and onto the people waiting in line at a club and no one stopped us. I almost feel guilty about stopping there, but it was just for a while and it was fun to celebrate with the guys. Tonight we're the kings of the world.

And now I'm going to get the whip cream and the cherry on top of my pie, I think to myself as I make another sharp corner, with the full intention of bursting into the room like it's a surprise party or something. My cheeks are actually sore from smiling but I can't stop myself as I spin around to back into the door, pushing it open even as Jordan holds his hand out, offering to take the Cup from me, as if I'm going to let go of it now. Not until I put it into her hands.

"Make way for the Stanley Cup Champions!" I yell as I stumble into the room, wondering, just for a moment if I stink of booze. But then I tell myself she won't mind. She loves me and I love her and she's just going to be happy for me and she won't care if I stink. Hockey funk. She says she loves it. "Woohoo," I turn, yelling like the crazed kid I feel like tonight, but then my voice dies in my throat.

Tish is there on the bed, with Randi, and she's crying. Big fat tears are rolling down her face and she doesn't even look up at us. Not even when Jordy says her name. She just holds on tight to Randi's hand, her cheek pressed against Randi's temple, sobbing.

There's a nurse too and she's unplugging the machine that I think should be making that beeping sound, keeping time with Randi's heart, which means...which means....

Jordan takes the Cup out of my hands. I let him take it, or maybe he just takes it. I don't know. All I do know is I have to touch her, have to get a hold of her hand; have to shake her, because she has to wake up. Because this can't be happening, this can't be how this day ends.

"No...no!" I shake my head, looking across Randi's still, ghostly pale form to where Tish's red rimmed eyes are still staring down at the top of Randi's head. "I don't understand. She was fine. Her brother said she was fine," I insist, feeling her small hand cooling in mine, the life already gone from it, even though she only looks like she's sleeping. Her eyes are closed, her mouth turned up in a smile, as if she's having a good dream.

"She wasn't," Tish shakes her head, closing her eyes and leaning her forehead on the top of Randi's too pale head. I keep looking for signs that I'm wrong, a pulse somewhere, for her chest to move, her fingers to twitch, but there's nothing. No movement. No breath. "But she was supposed to…this was supposed to make it better. She just didn't want you to know, didn't want you guys to worry." Tish looks across at me, tears glistening in her dark eyes. "She knew you were coming, she'd watched the whole game but then…but then...," she shakes her head and begins to sob again, saying her name over and over.

Randi. Randi. Randi.

That's when Jordan, who I'd forgotten all about, puts the Cup down beside me and then reaches for Tish, carefully, as if he's afraid of spooking her. He picks her up, adjusts her weight against his chest, and then turns and carries her out of the room. I listen to them go, but I don't look away from the still form of the woman whose hand I'm holding.

The woman I love is gone.


	18. Chapter 18

_I think that may have been the most comments ever on a chapter! Thank you. I take it that it touched you, or surprised you or even made you mad, which means that the characters meant something to you, which I take as the ultimate compliment. A thousand times, thank you. I hope you enjoy the last couple chapters. _

C18

"Parade? I can't…how could I go in a parade?" I ask, sitting in the same chair I'd sat in, staring into the same empty fireplace, with my mentor at my side as I had when I'd admitted to loving her, except now he's telling me that I have to be happy, that I have to go on with the celebration. I can't imagine celebrating now. Even with The Cup still in the house and a barbeque planned with all of the players coming over any time now, with all their kids and families. But no matter how hard I try, I can't bring back the festive feelings of the night before.

"So the rest of the guys are supposed to miss out on what could be their one and only chance to have a parade in their honor?" he begins, but falls silent when I shoot him a sharp and what I know is a dark look, a warning.

"I didn't say anything about any of the other guys," I snap, turning quickly away from him. "I don't care what _they_ do."

"Don't you think you should all be together? People are expecting their captain…."

"Well fuck them. Seriously. Tell them my grandma died or something. I don't care what you tell them but don't expect me to go out there and smile and be happy….I can't do it." I look up and over my shoulder at him and where I expect to find judgment, I find sympathy in the big man's blue eyes and somehow that just makes it worse. I open my mouth to tell him to stop looking at me like he understands because it isn't possible. No one knows how I'm feeling, but instead of Mario giving me more sage and unwanted advice, another voice pipes up from deep in the shadows of the room.

"It's what she would have wanted for you, you know." I glance over at where Randi's friend Tish is sitting on the floor despite the fact that she's in a short black dress, mostly in Jordan's lap, her head cradled in his big hand where it's laid against his shoulder. She doesn't even look up when she says it, doesn't even open her eyes. "She was so excited for you about the parade and the party tonight. She was telling me all about it. She was so happy for you. She wouldn't want this. She wouldn't want you to stop celebrating. And don't give me that look," she adds without even looking up, prompted maybe by Jordan holding his breath or maybe that sort of tickle you get at the back of your neck when you know you're being watched, "because I _can_ say that. She was my best friend in the entire world and I know her…okay? I know what she wanted."

"Yeah well…I don't even know why I care. I mean, she was totally lying to me anyway so…," my voice trails off to nothing as Tish finally turns her tear stained face towards me, her swollen and bloodshot eyes noticeable even in the darkest part of a darkened room.

"Fuck you Sidney. She didn't even want to _be _with you but you wouldn't leave her alone. You practically fucking stalked her until she couldn't say no. So yeah, she hid some of the worst shit from you but she did it because she fucking loved the bones off of you and wanted you to win that fucking Cup more than she wanted anything. So no…you don't get to fucking whine and feel sorry for yourself. She didn't even want that fucking surgery. She was scared to fucking death to have that fucking surgery but she had it for you. Yeah we talked her into it but I know, because I was fucking there, that all she cared about right up…right until…." Her voice breaks and she turns her face back into Jordan's shoulder and begins to sob.

I watch him cradle her against his chest, his lips falling to her temple as he whispers soft and soothing words to her. It makes my chest hurt to watch them, but I can't seem to look away. My fingers itch to hold the woman who's gone, who I'll never hold again.

"Elle a raison, mon ami," Fleur says quietly from his perch at the edge of Mario's desk. I turn to glare at him. Jordan had at least met Randi, and Tish, well she's entitled to her opinion, but Fleur…he didn't even know her at all. "Tue étes très attentif sur l'avoir. You didn't give her much choice. You said so yourself, when you want something…."

"Well I didn't want this. It's not fair," I growl, tearing my attention away from him and turning it, instead, on Mario, leveling my gaze on his. "I don't want to do the parade."

Everyone falls back into silence again. The same sort of heavy silence there's been around me since last night. Since they left me with her and I didn't know what to say, didn't know what to do and I've been struggling with that ever since.

"Is he always like this?" Tish's voice breaks the silence, and I can tell just by her inflection that she's not just quietly asking Jordy. It's a barb, aimed straight at me.

"Like what?" Mario asks, sounding interested. Probably because she seems to be the only person who seems to know what to say to provoke me into any kind of exchange.

"Like a little prima-donna bitch. Like a selfish, pissy little baby," she begins, forcing me to bite my tongue, to close my eyes and take several deep breaths to stop myself from lashing out at her for helping to hide Randi's true condition from me; her and Jordy both.

"Oh I don't think we have to go that far," Mario intervenes, but only from a distance. I notice he doesn't ask her to leave or tell her to stop and neither does Jordy.

"I think we do," Tish snorts and without even looking I can tell that she's struggling to her feet. I can hear Jordan whispering at her, can hear her slapping his hand away and think again that there are a few power forwards in the league who could take a lesson or two from her. "I think you need to put on a fucking happy face and get out and say hi to everyone tonight and then do the same thing tomorrow in the parade and then you can fucking grieve the rest of the summer if that's what it takes, because that's what she'd want you to do and if she was here she'd tell you the same god damn thing Sidney and you fucking know it too, because as sick as she was, she hardly ever complained. So in that spirit, you'd better just deal, for _her_." I look up into Tish's face. The pain in her eyes is evident in the dark circles beneath her eyes that tell me she's had as little sleep as I have but the thin line of her lips tells me that right now, she's all business and she means every word she says. "It's not her fault she had an aneurysm. It's not like she wanted to go yet. That's what's not fair. She did everything she could and she's still dead," she sighs, reaching up to press her fingers to her temples, and I know how she feels, except that I have a hangover to add to the pain from thinking too much. "And just so you know, she had every intention of telling you, after you won. And by the way, she was sure you would win. She had faith in you so…it would be nice if you showed a little in her too," she adds more quietly, and then turns and holds her hand out to Jordan who quickly gets to his feet and gathers her back into his arms, holding her close while he guides her out of the room.

I watch them go, letting her words sink in and then I push myself to my feet and turn to Mario.

"Okay…I'll do it but…I want Flower with me and I don't want to have to…you know, be here tonight for long."

Mario nods, but thankfully doesn't say anything; maybe because there isn't anything else to say. I know I can't think of anything else, but maybe that's because I'm tired. Maybe if I let myself sleep things will look different later, but then maybe if I close my eyes I'll just see her there, she'll be waiting there in my dreams, and it will only hurt worse.

I guess I won't know until I try. I just can't stop thinking that this is all just so incredibly unfair. This is supposed to be the happiest time of my life. I wish I didn't feel bitter and angry but can I help it if I do?

"Oh, Sidney, I almost forgot." I turn, my hand on the door, to find Mario standing behind me with an envelope in his hand. I stare at it for a moment, thoughts of bonuses filling my head, but when he advances on me, the writing, my name, on the outside of the envelope is not his. "She left this for you, that night you brought her here for dinner. She left it on my desk, I suppose just in case this happened. Maybe, before you decide anything you should read what she has to say."

"You read it?" I ask, looking up into his cool blue gaze, feeling immediately as though my privacy has been invaded. But he only shrugs and extends his hand, putting the envelope in mine.

"There was one for me as well. She loved you Sidney, try and remember that."

I can't look at him when he says it. All I _can_ do is stare at the crisp, white envelope in my hand, thinking how heavy it feels and how hard it is to breathe all of a sudden. I can't even move my feet to leave his office, but then I don't have to. I hear him usher Fleur out the French doors and the soft click of them behind me. It's only then that I let my knees go weak, dropping into the big leather chair that behind his desk, setting the envelope down in front of me like I'm afraid to touch it. Like I'm afraid it will burn my fingers.

Or maybe I'm just afraid that I'll hear her voice inside my head and I won't be able to take it.

But the envelope just stares up at me, like she's whispering my name and even though my hands shake when I do it, I open the envelope and pull out the think white paper inside.

_Sidney;_

_If you're reading this that means I'm gone and for that I'm sorry._

_I'm sorry for all the time we didn't get to spend together because I said no to you the first time you tried to buy me a drink._

_I'm sorry for all the time we missed out on because I was in the hospital. _

_I'm sorry I wasn't able to be there for you, cheering for you in person the way I wanted to be. _

_I'm sorry for all the time I won't have with you._

_And I'm sorry I didn't tell you this when I was with you but I'm not sorry for every single minute I had with someone as special and as amazing as you are. I can't believe how lucky I am to have had you take the time out of a crazy, hectic time in your life to spend your time with me. And I can't believe how absolutely lucky I am that you love me, even though I've got no hair. _

_I could wish for a lot of things. I could wish to change the ending, but most of all, I would change every minute if it meant that this wouldn't hurt you. I would take all of it back, I would erase it all, if it means that your heart will still be as big and as full of love as I know it is. Don't let this change you and please don't let it stop you from sharing your love with some other lucky girl. I wish I could have it forever, but if I can't, please don't hide your heart away. It's too magical, too amazing. _

_And don't worry about me because, even though I've never been a religious person and I don't know what's on the other side, I've decided that if there is a heaven, I know just what it will be ~ making love to you, over and over and over._

_I love you Sidney. Thank you for loving me. _

_Love Always_

_Randi_

_P.S. Don't ask Mario what was in his letter. He knows what to do. _

I stare down at the page, my fingers tracing each fine line, tracing her signature over and over.

I didn't cry last night. Maybe all the champagne I'd had to drink had dulled the pain enough, or maybe I've just been in shock, but I haven't cried. Until now; because right now I miss her. Now I don't know what I'm going to do without her. Now, I don't feel like I can breathe.

Now that I'm alone, I let the tears fall, dropping my head into my hands as I whisper her name over and over to myself, wondering what the hell I'm supposed to learn from this and if I'll ever feel happy again.

* * *

I made it through the evening, somehow. Mostly in a daze, putting on that professional face, that forced smile and the guys helped by not asking how I was every few minutes and no one else seemed to notice.

Eventually, once enough wine had been shared from Mario's wine cellar, I managed my escape. Me and The Cup. I had to have something to hold otherwise I was afraid I was going to break apart into a million pieces. Of course it was gone by the time I woke up, back into its box, back into the keeping of its' official white gloved handler.

Which makes it easier for me to do what I need to do now, which is find Mario once I've had a quick shower to clear my head, to make sure that the decision I woke up with on the tip of my tongue is the right one.

I'm still not sure when I put my hand up to knock on Mario's office door but I don't have any more time to think about it, as the door swings open and the big man is standing right there in front of me.

"I was just about to go looking for you," he says quietly, giving me that careful once over, as if he's looking for damage. "I just wanted to tell you that I was proud of you for getting through last night and…."

"I want to see her…before they do…before they…," my voice trails off as I choke on the words, unable to give them voice. It's hard enough to think of her let alone thinking of her…of her gone, really gone.

"We can do that," Mario replies, the weight of his hand feeling heavy on my shoulder. "We've got some time. You want to go now?" I look up at him, wondering why he'd taking this so calmly and why he has this little smile on his face and he answers me by giving my shoulder a hard thump. "She was smart, your girl. She knew…well maybe hoped you would want to say good bye properly. I had her bo…her moved to a funeral home yesterday. I thought we could all go, say our goodbyes before the parade? Okay?"

Nodding, I follow him silently to the garage and am not surprised to see Fleur and Vero waiting for us there.

"Today is better non, mon ami?" Fleur asks, holding his hand out towards me, but instead of shaking the hand that's offered, I let him pull me into a hug, and for at least a moment I do feel a little better.

* * *

"I wasn't quite expecting you so early." A middle aged woman with kind grey eyes meets us at the door of the funeral home, her brightly coloured blouse not quite meeting with my expectation of a mortuary attendant, but her calm, soft voice does. She doesn't even look at Mario, or Fleur, but holds her hands out to me, gathering my one in both of her own. "Would you like to visit on your own? Or would you like some company?" she asks, as if I'm going in to visit someone who might actually talk back to me. I only wish it were true with all of my heart.

"Flower?" I ask, turning to my soft spoken friend who only has to nod to let me know that he'll come with me, he'll stand with me, that he'll be there for me. As if I had any doubt.

"Great. She's just this way, if you'd like to follow me." She gives my hand another squeeze and gives me a reassuring smile before turning to lead us slowly down a brightly lit hallway, over plush carpet that looks like it should be in a casino in one of those fancy hotels in Vegas, and then stops in front of a heavy dark wooden door.

I almost lose my nerve then but for Fleur's reassuring hand on my shoulder. It's the only reason I can go forward, that I can move at all when the door slowly opens revealing a simple dark casket on a table, surrounded with sunflowers, black irises, purple tulips and yellow daffodils. The closest thing, I suppose, to Pens colours.

My knees almost give way as I walk forward, but I have to do this. I have to say good bye. I can't leave it like this.

She looks like a doll. A sleeping doll, wearing the dress she'd worn on the night we'd first….

Her skin is waxy and cold to the touch but I have to touch her, have to hold her hand. I should have done it at the hospital, before she was cold like this. I should have climbed into the hospital bed with her and held her then. I regret that now. I might regret it forever.

"I'm sorry," I whisper, holding her hand up to my cheek, her fingers limp in my hand, but supple, not stiff like I'd imagined they'd be. Closing my eyes, I try to ignore the artificially clean smell that's attached itself to her skin, the faint reek of ammonia and who knows what other chemicals they've used to prepare her body. Besides, this is just the shell of her, I tell myself, just as it was in the hospital. Whatever, and wherever Randi was at that moment, she wasn't, she isn't this. Yes, her plump, sweet lips still look like they are aching for a kiss, but there is nothing of her behind them, no teasing smile, no dancing, emerald eyes. Those are the things I miss most now as I dig into my pocket for the thing that had brought me here.

I had so looked forward to seeing the surprise in her eyes when I opened this box. I'd even decided I was going to enjoy the argument when she told me it was too soon and that I was only caught up in winning and that we should wait. I had had it all planned though, to ignore her and put it on her finger just as I'm doing now and tell her…and tell her….

"I love you," I whisper the words I'd wanted to say, the words I'd hoped to say when she looked up at me with love and pride in her eyes when I carried The Cup in for her.

"Mon ami, are you sure?" I find myself smiling as I turn to look at my friend, only to find that the entire team has crept in, silent as ghosts and now filling the small room in which the woman I love is resting, never to wake even to her Prince's kiss. Because this is no dream and not even a two carat diamond slipped onto her hand is going to change a thing.

"I bought it for her. It was for her," I try to explain, but I can't expect him to understand. He has his lady love. The love of his life is standing near by, warm and alive. How can he possibly understand?

Turning back to her, to her still form, I let her hand slip from my fingers, putting it down gently over top her other hand at her waist, and then I lean in, tears falling from my eyes onto her ashen cheek, and kiss her softly. One last good-bye.


	19. Chapter 19

_As some of you know, I was going to leave this story at Chapter 17 but I just couldn't leave Sidney like that. Then I was going to leave it at the last chapter but I was inspired by an idea that came to me out of the blue. I hope you agree, this is a great ending and who knows...maybe it leaves room for a sequel_

C19

"Is that all you're eating?" my mother asks, looking across the table at the cheese sandwich on my plate and then up at me. "You have a big day tomorrow. You can't just eat that."

"Leave him alone Trina," my dad interjects, and I spare him a small smile before biting into the bun to stop myself from having yet another one of those conversations with my mom where I have to tell her that I'm fine. I know she worries, and I guess I've been a little quieter than I usually would be when I'm home, but still, I can do without all her worried glances and general fussing. I guess the good thing is, if she knew the whole story it would be worse.

"Are you going out with some of the guys this afternoon son?" Troy asks, not bothering to look up from the paper, but I just shake my head. I know that I should be more sociable. I mean that is why we're in PEI, to visit with some friends and relatives but that's just more people to ask how I'm doing and how do I explain why I should be over the moon but I'm not? "Any plans?"

"I thought I'd do some shopping. There's…just some thing I was thinking of getting," I answer quietly, staring down at the two bites I've taken out of my sandwich and wondering why I feel full. I haven't had much of an appetite lately, but this worries even me.

"Want some company?" he asks, folding the paper over but still avoiding eye contract, which I appreciate.

"Not really," I reply honestly, which garners me yet another worried glance from my mother. "But thanks anyway. I just want to…walk around a bit I think."

"That's probably just as well," Troy nods, folding the paper over and running his thick fingers over it, pressing it along the creases before looking up at me. "You _do_ have a big day tomorrow. You probably won't have much time to yourself. It's probably a good idea to have a quiet day."

Nodding, I give him a grateful look that he returns with a wink. It's good to know he understands and where my mom can't seem to allow herself not to worry, my dad knows I have it all under control.

Still, he doesn't really know all of it.

For instance he doesn't know that she's dead. He thinks the girl I wanted him to meet said no. That we broke up over it.

Not that I told him that. He sort of…made it up on his own. I don't know why I haven't corrected him on it. Maybe I should have but I haven't.

Feeling for my keys in my pocket I push my plate forward and my chair back, giving my mother a hopeful and apologetic glance. I'd usually clean up after myself but I know she's itching to do something for me. Better this than actually sit down and talk.

"You go," she smiles brightly, her usually plain jane school teacher expression transformed as she looks up at me. "You'll be home for dinner?"

"You bet," I smile, glancing over my shoulder to wave at my grandmother who's sitting in the sunroom, her cat on her lap, drinking her tea and doing her crossword.

I have to get out of this place. It's too quiet. It's too easy for me to think too much.

I'm already beginning to think that I don't remember what she looked like. I never did have a photo of her, or one with her for that matter. Jordan's girlfriend promised to send me one but now I'm almost praying she doesn't. Maybe that would make it easier, not to remember, not to have a reminder.

Tomorrow I won't have time to think but today…today I need to get out of the little house by the water and stretch my legs. I need to get some fresh air and clear my head. I need to find something to occupy my time.

My fingers are already itching for a hockey stick. I hate jogging but I've been doing that, just to fill the time in the early hours of the morning. That's when it's the worst. Well…that and late at night or pretty much any other time that I'm alone, in bed. That's when I can't help but think of her, of the way her skin smelled and the way her body felt tucked up against mine.

Giving my head a shake, I climb into the car and crank the ignition. I wish I could drive fast somewhere. Driving fast makes you concentrate. But most of the roads are narrow around here and there are too many tourists in the summer. Damn Anne of Green Gables. I don't know what girls get out of that stupid story anyway. I never did like red heads. Hossa, you jerk.

Pointing the car down the road, I head into the town.

Town…that's funny. It's more of a village really, with a lot of touristy shops, knick knacks and tea towels and decorative spoons. Shit like that.

I'm not really sure what I need but I've had the feeling since I got up this morning that I need something. I'm just hoping that I'll know when I see it, that it will jump out at me.

Traffic slows to a crawl as the cars line up at the first stop sign, tourists plugging up the cross walk, taking their sweet time meandering across the road. I don't know why it bugs me. It's not like I really have anywhere I have to be, but I feel impatient all the same, my fingers drumming on the steering wheel as I wait for the light to turn.

When I press the gas pedal again, traffic barely speeds up to twenty and I can feel my teeth clenching as I stare at the license plate in front of me. Quebec. Damn tourist. Do they even know about Anne of Green Gables in Montreal? Don't they have their own stories I wonder as I let the car roll forward, glancing at the shops as we crawl past at a walking pace, still wondering what it is that I think I want.

Then I see it, a book store, and I realize that's what's been niggling away at the back of my mind. That conversation we had, Randi and I, about using my spare time to do something other than play video games. To expand my mind, to learn something, teach myself something, keep my mind active.

Smiling to myself, I point the car into a parking space in front of the bookstore and let the car glide to a stop.

Okay Randi, I sigh, turning off the ignition and gripping the steering wheel tight. So this is going to be your legacy to me is it? Books?

Shaking my head but still smiling, I pocket my keys and climb out of the car, locking it behind me as I step up onto the sidewalk and stare into the window full of – what else – L.M. Montgomery books. Anne of the Island, Anne Goes to School….Anne, Anne, Anne….

Shrugging, I decide to give it a shot, feeling a sort of cool breeze blowing at my back as if to urge me forward, I push the door open, cringing at the high tinkling sound of the bell above my head. I walk past the figurines and other Anne knick knacks and head towards the back of the store, hoping there will be some biographies or something else more…interesting.

"Huh. Who knew?"

I look up at the voice, assuming like the egotist I am I guess, that the comment is aimed at me. Instead I find myself looking at a young woman with long dark hair, smooth pale skin wearing a leather jacket and holding a motorcycle helmet under one arm and a book titled The McMillan Brothers, PEI's Hockey Legends in her other hand. Curious about her cupid's bow lips as well as the book she's holding, I walk towards her and peer at the book.

"Who knew what?" I ask, glancing down at the pictures she's looking at and then reaching for another book from the same shelf; that biography that Randi had teased me about - Don Cherry's Hockey Stories and Stuff.

"I didn't know there were any hockey players from PEI," the woman says, looking up at me quickly and then turning the book over to read the back cover.

"There's a few, actually," I reply slowly, leaning carefully against the book shelf, going for casual. "Steve Ott, Nathan McIver, Brad Richards…," I begin, to which she looks up at me with narrowed eyes.

"Really? I recognize those names," she smiles and then rolls her eyes. "I mean, I know Brad Richards played for Tampa and now Dallas but…."

"So does Ott…or at least last time I checked he did," I add, wracking my brain to remember where Nathan is playing, thinking it might be the AHL but….

"You're one of those guys who does really well in hockey pools right?" she asks with a grin, snapping the book shut and replacing it on the shelf. Smiling to myself, I have to bite down on my lip not to laugh.

"I've never really taken part in that kind of stuff," I reply honestly.

"Well you should, if you know stuff like that. I could probably use your help. I sucked in my last office pool. I mean, I did okay but I thought like Eric Staal would have way more points but I guess Jordan took care of that huh?" she grins, and I find myself grinning back at her and following her lead as she heads into the automotive section.

"He sure did. He was pretty proud of it too. I bet Eric still hasn't heard the end of it," I laugh, thinking about how cool Jordan was at the end of that series, like it didn't matter, until he got into the dressing room and wanted to break out the champagne.

"I bet he was," she says quietly, turning to look back at me, her gaze moving slowly from my RBK cap down to my flip flops and back up. "Oh shit…wow…I'm a fucking moron," she mutters, closing her eyes as her cheeks turn a bright pink. "You're him…you're Sidney Crosby…and you must think I'm a fucking idiot." She sighs, pressing her finger tips to the bridge of her nose and muttering a number of colourful curse words under her breath.

"I don't, no," I laugh, taking off my sunglasses as she slides hers up into her hair, pressing her bangs back and revealing a pale raccoon like mask where the sun hasn't turned her face a healthy golden colour, and a pair of emerald green eyes. I stop breathing altogether. Green eyes…. "What…what's your name?" I ask, stumbling over my words and thinking I'll pass out right where I stand if she says Miranda.

"Mya," she says, smiling brightly, pulling off her black leather riding glove and offering her hand to me. Feeling the small hairs on the back of my neck standing on end and the palms of my hands going clammy, I wipe my hand off on my shorts before taking the one she's offering and shaking it. A bolt of electricity shoots up my arm and I could swear she feels it too as her eyes widen and she glances down at where our hands are joined.

"So…uh…are you from around here?" I ask, pulling my hand back and flexing my fingers, wondering where the shock came from. There's no rug for me to have dragged my feet on and the air outside was humid if anything….

"No, no, I'm just doing a cross country thing," she replies quietly, as if she's grown suddenly shy, lifting her full face helmet for me to see, by way of description. "You know, before I knuckle down and get going with my Masters degree."

"Masters? Really? Dalhousie? King's College?" I ask, assuming she must be from nearer home, Halifax maybe.

"Not exactly," she says, her cheeks turning bright crimson as she turns away and begins to poke at the spines of a number of large coffee table picture books, pulling one out and flipping through the glossy pages. "I um…start at Point Park in September."

"Point Park?" the name is familiar but I can't quite place it.

"Pittsburgh," she adds, glancing up at me with a raised eyebrow, "journalism and communication." My attention is dragged to her lips, her red lips and then back up to those green, green eyes and my heart stirs in my chest for the first time in weeks.

"Do you wanna get a coffee?"


End file.
